


the form of thirst

by MostDismalFeldsparkle (Most_Dismal_Feldsparkle)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Amputee Aziraphale, Angst, Artist Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Disabled Aziraphale (Good Omens), Disordered Eating, M/M, PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, implied / referenced mental abuse, veteran Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 62
Words: 106,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Most_Dismal_Feldsparkle/pseuds/MostDismalFeldsparkle
Summary: Anarchic, street-artist Crowley gets disabled veteran Zira fired, from Zira’s family business.Then, they meet.Then, they fall in love.Crowley may have neglected to mention the first part.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 977
Kudos: 505





	1. 62

It will be fine,” Zira muttered, smoothing down the ghastly, polyester tie, across the breast of his ghastly, new, polyester uniform.

His room mate, Newt, looked over, sceptically. “ _Will it_ , though? You don’t _HAVE_ to do this, Zira.”

  
  


Zira sighed. “Have a little faith in me, _please_ , dear boy. I am sure that I am perfectly capable of minding an empty building.”

  
  


Newt hurriedly swallowed his mouth full of tea. “It’s not _you_ I don’t have faith in, Zira. You know that, don’t you? It’s _THEM_. They won’t LET you do well. This job is just intended to humiliate you, just like the demotion before it, and the one before that. Why not just quit, and be shot of them? Start again, somewhere else. For _yourself_ this time. Do something _you_ like.”

  
“Newton, dear, it’s a family business...”

  
“Which you hate! The army was a family business too, and you hated that, _and_ you were bad at it...”

Zira raised an eyebrow, “By which you mean I came back missing a limb?”

“No!” Newt pouted. “I don’t mean that, and you know it. I meant, you were bad at it _AND,_ unrelatedly, you came back missing a limb. _AND,_ you never wanted it...”

“It’s an honour to...”

“Zira, I love you like a brother- unlike your _actual_ brothers, I might add- but, you just weren’t made to be a soldier...”

  
Zira sighed. “Oh, but I _was_ , though, Newton. From when we were children. You do your tours, and then you join the family business, and...”

“And then war profiteer...”

“I was hoping to run the foundation part, actually,” Zira sighed. “I always imagined I’d be good at that part... but, _no matter_. I think, I’ll do well at this new job. It’s at night, so no crowds, and it shouldn’t be too loud. There’s only a moderate amount of walking involved, and the prosthetic and I are getting on better than ever, these days. And, once I prove myself, I’m sure that they’ll...”

He trailed off at that, and smoothed the evil polyester a little more. A little more that was strictly necessary.

“You look fine, “ Newt sighed, misunderstanding, for once.

“Oh, nonsense. I look _ghastly_. A Hemsworth couldn’t make this thing look passable. I can only assume it’s intended to make the company look poor, in order to deter cat burglars. Now, were _I_ to ever run Eastern Gate International...”

“You would dress your security guards in the finest linens...”

Zira clicked his tongue. “Newton! Please! As you well know, I have decided to refer to myself as a Night Watchman. Much more dignified. Now, I must be off...”

Newt handed him a thermos. “Take the good crutch.”

“The walking stick will be sufficient.”

“Zira...”

“I would really prefer to make these decisions without _commentary._ ”

“Then, get a roommate who isn’t a physiotherapist. Now, ideally, quit _immediately_ , and go to university, like you always _actually_ wanted. But, if you insist on going to work, take the good crutch.”

“Fine. Where is it?”

“By the door.”

Zira sighed. “Thank you Newton. I do know you mean well, despite it all. Now, have a good evening, and don’t wait up, of course!”

“Roger that,” Newt saluted rudely, and Zira muttered his way out the door.

Alone, Newt texted Ana.

**He went...**

**_Well, I did tell you..._ **

**You didn’t see him though, he looked miserable!**

**_They’re his family Newt..._ ******

******Bullshit they are...** ** **

****

****_**Zira. Will. Be. Fine. Go to bed.**_ ** **

****

Newt did.

****

In the morning, he stretched, and reached for his phone, for his morning text from Ana.

She always sent one.

****

This one made him sit up.

****

****_**Okay.... so.... I was wrong about the being fine**_ ********** **

********  
******** She had sent a link. He followed it. The Daily Mail.

******** ** **

******** £30 thousand damage to Eastern Gate International building overnight  ** ** ** **

******** ** **

Newt buried his head in a pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley sprawled out in the perfect cafe seat to watch the show.

Photographers, t.v cameras, citizen selfies, eventually a press conference.

He waited, until the light was perfect, to take his own souvenir snap.

  
His beautiful, messy, _amazing_ , spiraling serpent. 80-foot-long etched into the glass of Eastern Gate’s flagship office buildings, fangs surrounding the worlds most boring corporate logo, poised to take a big, juicy bite. 

The words “fucking war mongers get the fangs” blazing across its scales.

  
About thirty minutes ago, some balding drip, in a suit, had climbed a step ladder, suit jacket flapping in the breeze. He’d attempted to spray paint over the word ‘fucking’ with orange spray paint. It hadn’t gone well, and he’d descended the ladder rather more orange than he’d ascended.

  
There was already a video of the clown on YouTube.

And the word, having been, you know, _etched_ , was still perfectly readable.

The same git had been at the press conference, although some other got did the talking. He’d changed his suit By then, though, which was a shame.

The show was largely wrapping up, when Crowley noticed him. Not the step ladder git. No fancy suit for this man, and certainly not two.

This _him_ was a security guard, limping across the street.

Crowley’s stomach did an unpleasant flip.

A security guard carrying a small box of personal effects. And a crutch.

_Fuck_.

A security guard limping with a small box of personal effects, and a crutch, into the very cafe where Crowley was sitting.

_Fuckity fuck with orange spray paint._

“I’d like a hot cocoa, please,” the security guard said sadly, as Crowley attempted to disappear into his own shoulders. “With whipped cream. And sprinkles.”

“Made you security guard, did they, Zira?” the barista asked, gently.

“ _Ahhh,_ Yes.”

“And _that_ happened on your watch, did it?”

“Oh, yes. Very _first_ night on the job.”

The barista chuckled a little, although it seemed neither intended or taken unkindly. “Cocoa’s is on the house, then. You and _your luck_ , mate! Just how many mirrors have you broken?”

  
The security guard- _Zira_ \- laughed. “Simply _all_ of them! It’s this face, you see. Mirrors just break the moment they catch sight of me. So yes. All the bad luck. Quite.”

“I’ll throw in some marshmallows,” the barista replied.

  
“And maybe some steamed milk for all the black cats?” Zira quipped back, as he took a seat, one table away from Crowley, sighed, and looked across the street, toward Crowley’s serpent. “You’ve got a good view...”

“Yeah...” Crowley muttered, uncomfortable. “It’s... certainly... _something_...”

  
“Big, isn’t it?” this Zira sighed. “And, full credit to the artist, they managed the whole thing in less than twenty minutes, if you can believe it!”

It had been _eighteen_ minutes, Crowley thought grimly, plus months of preparation, practice, and a stencil design and art style that could withstand a bit of leaking.

He’d been so proud of himself, a moment ago. Still _was_ , actually. But...

“And... well, they aren’t exactly wrong, are they?” Zira sighed. “I don’t agree with the _tactics_ , exactly...”

“Well.... the medium is the message...” Crowley replied, a little stupidly.

“Oh! Have you read him?” Zira asked, blinking softly at Crowley. “McLuhan?”

_Oh fuck, he’s pretty too_ , Crowley groaned, and then said the stupidest thing humanly possible. “You’re pretty.”

Zira blinked. “Excuse me?”

“All the breaking mirror talk,” Crowley stammered. “Breaking mirrors with your face. But... you’re _pretty_ , actually.”

“I.... what? Am I?”

“Yes!” Crowley’s mouth yammered away, leaving Crowley’s brain, and sense of decorum, in the dust. “Very pretty. _Soulful_. Trust me on this, I’m an artist. You don’t break mirrors with your face.”

“So, I make my own luck,” Zira replied, sadly. “I know you set out to pay me a compliment, and _thank you kindly_ for that, my dear. Lord knows, I need one. But... there’s quite a sting in the tail, because my luck is quite... _peculiar_.”

_Change the subject!_ Crowley’s brain screamed, to Crowley’s tongue, from a distance. _Or better yet, just shut up until we can run away entirely._

Crowley’s tongue considered this, for a moment, and settled on “You have a cactus!”

Zira’s face brightened, considerably. “Oh yes! It was a present from my room mate, Newton. Sweet boy. Thought it might cheer up my desk at work... it’s been with me a few desks now, actually. A few increasingly smaller desks. Well... and now... it’s no desk, and...”

“.... and, it’s dead,” Crowley’s tongue added, _oh-so-helpfully_.

Zira’s face fell, hard, just as Crowley’s brain finally caught up to his tongue.

_Just too late._

“What? It’s not dead! Of course it isn’t!” Zira’s lip wobbled.

Crowley cringed. But it _was_ too late. “It is though.... look...” He reached out and gently picked up what had once been a tiny Cephalocereus and plucked it right off the soil, showing Zira, that the actual plant had rotted away and all that was left was the little outer cocoon of white hairs.

“Oh!”

To Crowley’s horror, Zira started to cry.

The cocoa arrived, with a shoulder pat for Zira and a frosty glare for Crowley. Crowley found he couldn’t quite disagree.

_Have any wounds you need salt rubbed in? Come to Crowley’s Salt Emporium! We have sea salt, pillars of salt, pink fucking Himalayan salt.._.

“Don’t... don’t cry,” Crowley murmured, miserably. “You probably just over-watered it, that’s all! Just... cared TOO much....”

“I did,” Zira nodded, still sobbing. “I bet I did.”

“Well... that’s okay,” Crowley stammered, unconsciously taking Zira’s hand. “Just... some people don’t have it in them to be deserts... some people are just...natural _cloud forests_. There’s nothing wrong with being a cloud forest. Some of my best friends are cloud forests. Just...get something thirsty, next time. Like a.... Begonia. You’d get on great with a Begonia.”

“No,” Zira sniffed. “Thank you, but I shall not inflict myself on any more plants, begonias or otherwise. I’ve learnt my lesson. Poor Fred has not died in vain.”

“You called your cactus Fred?”

Zira peered at him. “You don’t like it? What should one call a cactus?”

“Spike! _Obviously_ ,” Crowley replied, firmly.

“Well that’s not terribly creative, I thought you were an artist!”

“Errrr...Prickly-Pearemy? Goldie Thorn? Benedict Cactuspatch? Just not _FRED_.”

Zira’s bottom lip pushed out ever so slightly. “Fred’s dead.”

Crowley nodded dolefully. “Alas, poor Fred. I knew him, Saguaro...”

“A fellow of in-spine-ate chest... and most succulent fancy.” Zira intoned back, a small smile breaking through, just at the end.

Crowley swallowed and squeezed Zira’s hand. “There, see? It will be okay, and...”

“Zira! There are are! Are you okay?” A tall, young man ran up to the table.

“I killed Fred, Newton dear,” Zira said to him. “And also, I was fired, completely. At long last.”

“Oh... I’m sorry,” Newt murmured... he caught Crowley’s eyes and mouthed _Who is Fred_?

Crowley mouthed back. _Cactus!_

“And, who are you?” Newt asked, aloud, glancing in confusion at Crowley and Zira’s held hands.

  
“A kind stranger, who joined me for cocoa, and broke the news of poor Fred’s passing.” Zira answered. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name...”

“I’m Crowley!” Crowley’s tongue decided to help again.

“And, I’m Newt. Zira’s room mate. _Just_ Zira’s room mate,” Newt replied. “He’s single.”

“Newt!” Zira hissed.

“Well, you are!” Newt hissed back.

“Yes! And disabled, and very recently unemployed, and not NEARLY pretty enough for...” Zira hissed, trailed off looking at Crowley like Crowley was water and Zira was well...a begonia.

Crowley swallowed. “We covered this though. How you were pretty? Right back at the beginning? And... I’d like to take you shopping. For houseplants. Sometime. If you would... and there could be coffee. As well. And look... “

He scribbled his phone number onto a napkin, thanking the pen gnomes that he actually had a pen, for once.

Zira stared at the number like it was a string or indecipherable ancient glyphs.

The room mate, Newt, picked up the napkin and put it firmly inside the little box of effects. “He’ll text you.”


	3. Chapter 3

“ _He’ll text you_ , Newton, really??” Zira hissed later, in the car. 

Newt appeared unabashed. “All my life, Zira, I’ve longed for a purpose. And now, I’ve found it. Now, is it a _little_ weird that my grand purpose in life is getting _your_ shit together? Sure! But, ours is not to reason why. You are going to get a different job, put yourself through university, and date cute red-heads, if it kills me.”

  
  


Zira blushed. “He _was_ cute, wasn’t he? Those _eyes_.... and did you notice his curls?”

Newt nodded sagely. “Bright red curls. Hard to miss.”

“But, _cute or not_ , I don’t want to go on a pity date.”

  
  


Newt groaned, and flicked the indicator leaver aggressively. “How do you _know_ it was a pity date?” 

  
  


“ _OBVIOUSLY_ it was a pity date.”

“You don’t KNOW that, Zira,” Newt sighed. “At tremendous peril to my fragile heterosexuality, may I remind you, that youare, actually, rather cute.”  
  


“Cute?!” Zira’s face twisted.  
  


“There is nothing wrong with cute!” Newt insisted. “In my pre-Ana days, I’d have killed to be cute!”

Zira groaned this time. “ _Honestly_! Who meets their soul mate at _21_? It’s infuriating. You two are infuriatingly adorable. No wait... cute! You _ARE_ cute! _Ha_!”

“Ana and I are above your petty Earth-bound judgements, like _cute_. We transcend such feeble considerations,” Newt replied, loftily. “Now, stop changing the subject. Text cute red-head, before you lose that napkin under an avalanche of dusty Dickens novels.”

  
  


Zira blinked. “I can’t text him _TODAY_! Isn’t one supposed to wait some number of days to telegraph the exactly correct amount of eagerness? Isn’t it three days? Or is it _ten_ days? It’s certainly not twenty minutes, I know that much.”

“Or you could just be a person, and text when you want to?” Newt muttered. “Just a suggestion.”

“I’m going to mess this up, aren’t I?”

Next nodded. “Well, I mean, yes. _Probably_. That’s how dating works. Practice makes progress. Text the red-head.”

Zira sighed, scooped out the napkin, and carefully programmed the number into his phone, staring at it uncertainly. “What if it’s a fake number?”

“Then some random person is going to get a weird text about houseplants, and the human race shall abide.”

“What should I say..?”

“How about ‘ _it was lovely meeting you today. I would love to purchase houseplants under your guidance. I’m free this weekend_.’... or whatever that is in Zira“

Zira typed thoughtfully. “Only... it’s not awfully debonair, is it? Oh... I don’t know what I’m doing. I haven’t really dated anyone since...”

“I’m aware.”

“Well... I mean, should I _mention_ it? I know he saw me with the crutch, but a crutch could just mean sprained ankle...it doesn’t necessarily mean... What if it’s _too much_? ”

Newt sighed. “Then, he’s a berk, and you don’t want him anyway. Fine. Try... ‘ _lovely meeting you... plants... weekend... yadda yadda... b-t-w have one leg. You cool?_ ’”  
  


“What’s b-t-w?”  
  


Newt shook his head. “This is going to kill me.”  
  


“Okay, fine. I sent it.”  
  


Newt blinked. “You sent THAT?”  
  


“YOU TOLD ME TO!”  
  


“It was a FIRST DRAFT!”  
  


Zira sighed. “Oh dear... and there’s no recalling these things, is there? oh! Dots! ... dots means he’s answering... right? He’s answering straight away? Do you think that’s good or bad...”

“Yes,” Newt replied, decisively. “I DO think that’s good or bad.”  
  


Zira peered at the screen, as they pulled up to a traffic light. “He says... he says ‘ _Which leg? And this is crucial!_ ’.... I don’t get it.”

“I think it’s a joke.”

Zira frowned. “What do you think I should say?”

“I think you should lie about which leg it is, marry him, and somehow maintain the lie, in high farcical fashion, until the day you die.”

“Point taken.”

* * *

Crowley stood by the begonias, and argued with himself.

Or, rather, he _TRIED_ to argue with himself, for as much as he had a general sense of unease...

a sense that this was all a HORRIBLE idea... 

...it was proving particularly difficult to find a champion for that unease.

’What about you, Brain?’ he asked his brain. ‘We already know Tongue’s opinion. _Tongue_ got us into this mess.‘

_He knew who McLuhan was, he did a terrible Shakespeare pun with you. He names his plants atrociously. You could be soul mates. Just saying._

‘Well, you’re no help,’ Crowley muttered. ‘And, I was really counting on you, Brain, to pull the breaks here! I mean, we can’t expect Nether Regions to vote Nay, now can we?’

_Well of course not! You did see those eyes, didn’t you? And, if you wanted Nether Regions to bail you out of this, then you really should have worn different pants, don’t you think? You know how Nether Regions gets when you wear these pants._

‘No help AT ALL!’ Crowley muttered. ‘You may be the least useful Brain in existence. Tell you what, change sides or I’m going to stop eating fish. Then, you’ll be sorry. Don’t test me, Brain! I’ll do it!’  
  


_That smile, though...._

Crowley growled and looked for a hard surface to discipline his brain with... but then he saw _him_.

The horrid security officer uniform was gone, and in its place was.... the uniform of a 1930’s literature professor.

Crowley’s heart giggled without permission.  
  


_Those eyes though... the smile..  
  
_

‘Goddam mutinous organs’ Crowley muttered.

And then....  
  


“You came!” Crowley found himself announcing, ebulliently.

Zira smiled.

_Melt_.  
  


Zira blushed.

_Meeeeeeelt_!

Zira spoke. “I did... I... Hello, Crowley. I’m not late am I?”

“Nope! Right on time! Right on time to meet your new best friend.” Crowleycontinued, committing to the ludicrous tone he’d started with, hoisting a large potted yellow begonia at him. “Zira, meet Winifred!”

“It’s a pleasure, Winifred,” Zira replied, taking in the Begonia, while blinking.

_...Adorably_!

“You’ll love her,” Crowley races on. “She’s dramatic, old-fashioned, high-maintenance, and profoundly, _desperately_ uncool.”

Zira giggled. “She sounds _delightful_. Thank you for the introduction!”

Crowley turned serious. “Now, I won’t lie. It is _not impossible_ you’ll kill her. But I, for one, believe in you two, crazy kids. Now... what’s next?”

Crowley took Zira in again.   
  


_There are those patch thingies on his elbows! Patches! Why?! How?! I must know! What reason could their possibly be?!_

  
... _Also, we should probably say more words._

More words came out of Crowley. “I see you with a maiden-hair fern.”

Zira laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. Winifred seems like the jealous type.”

“Well, I wouldn’t keep them in the same room,” Crowley agreed. “But honestly, your relationship with Winifred will be better for it. See... I can tell that you are a... “ Crowley lowered his voice “a.... _mister_....”

Zira’s eyes crinkled. “Oh, no! You’ve uncovered my secret shame!”

“And Winifred, while she has her charms, she is just not into misting. Too straight-laced. But, Elizabeth, here?” Crowley hoisted a soft feathery fern. “Elizabeth simply _RELISHES_ a good misting. She can’t get enough of it. LOVES getting her leaves wet. So, you see? Happy Winifred, happy Elizabeth, happy you!”  
  


Zira shook his head, smiling. “It seems the perfect arrangement!”  
  


“Oh, not yet!” Crowley exclaimed. “We aren’t done. You haven’t met Felicity.”  
  


“Oh, Good Lord, Crowley .... _Felicity_?”  
  


Crowley nodded sagely, before snatching up a moth orchid and holding it up for Zira. “Felicity!”

Zira rolled his eyes. “Now don’t _tease_ , Crowley. That is an orchid, and I killed a cactus. You can’t _possibly_ expect me to adequately satisfy an orchid.”

Crowley sighed, and put on the sternest face he could manage. “Now, hear me out, Zira. As much as there are thirsty plants like Winifred and Elizabeth out there, if you ever want to be truly good at plants, you need to get your premature watering problems under control. And that’s what Felicity is for. I know she looks fussy, but it’s all an act. While her roots are green, don’t water her, when they turn silver, it might be time. See? Easy! She’s even in a clear pot. She’ll teach you water discipline, this one and she asks for what she wants. She’ll leave you better than she found you.”

“Felicity,” Zira sighed, looking down at his shoes. Then he looked up at Crowley, eyes twinkling. “Crowley, why did you give them women’s names?”

  
  


Crowley laughed. “Because Winifred might not be the jealous type, but I am.”

  
  


Zira arched an eyebrow. “Really?”  
  


“No! Not particularly,” Crowley laughed. “Fine. Never mind Felicity. Here. Let’s get Harold, instead. Felicity’s equally emotionally-intelligent brother.”

  
  


“Oh I _like_ Harold! He was such lovely spots!”  
  


Crowley flashed a grin. “You hear that, Harold? Zira likes your freckles. Want to let him take you home?”

Zira looked horrified. “Oh but poor Harold! We just met! He’ll think me _terribly_ forward. And anyway, I’m still not sure they’ll let me buy a plant... let alone three. Even if my reputation as a Fred-killer doesn’t precede me, surely they’ll take one look at my black thumbs and boot me out of here.”

“Never fear, Zira,” Crowley replied executing a modest swagger. “For I happen to be very well acquainted with the owner’s son.”  
  


“Oh? _How_ well acquainted?”  
  


_I see him in the bathroom mirror every morning_ , suggested Crowley’s brain.  
  


“I give him a hand job in the shower every morning,” said Crowley’s tongue.  
  


Zira gasped. “I _see!_ And should I take that to mean that YOU are the owners son, or shall I be forced to use poor Harold to make you jealous and lure you away from some other dashing lad?”

  
  


Crowley loaded the plants into a cardboard box, and his heart laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people!
> 
> I am given to understand I have accidentally earned myself a reputation as a Merchant of Angst...
> 
> So I thought I better clarify, before anyone invests too much time, that while this story will certainly not be Angst-free... it isn’t meant to be as heavy as my previous stories.
> 
> My sincere apologies to any who I’ve misled....


	4. Chapter 4

“You must understand, Zira. That.... _graffito_ damage went _viral_. It’s the number one google image result for Eastern Gate!” Sandy emphasized his point by taking a slurp of red wine. 

  
Zira sucked in his lips and nodded, tiredly. Not that he’s really expected much out of the luncheon in the first place. And, at least his bœuf bourguignon was decent. 

Sandy wasn’t done though. “It would have _stunk_ of nepotism _not_ to let you go. But Gabe and I want you to know that, despite the awful position you put us in, we still consider you family.”

Zira chewed slowly, then swallowed. “My. How gracious of you.”

Sandy puffed out his cheeks. “In fact, as far as we are concerned, your termination wiped the slate clean.....I think we need more wine. Do you want more wine?”

“Best not,” Zira sighed, although he actually rather _would_ like more wine. “Still a bit on the wobbly side, you know.”

They were seated irritatingly deep into the slightly overcrowded dining room. And the chairs didn’t _quite_ fit under the tables. And the white linen tablecloths were a _little_ too large, touching the floor at each corner.

Trip hazards everywhere, basically.

Zira was certain he’d said as much about this place to Sandy last time, he’d been summoned to lunch here.

“Ah right,” Sandy replied. “ _The leg_. Perhaps you should look at getting a new one. Something less... utilitarian. Did you read that link I sent you the other day?”

“I did, yes. But as fascinating and important a development as it was, that _particular_ article was in regard to a new component for replacing the function of the knee. I still have both my knees.”

Sandy waved his hand vaguely. “Oh, right, Well, it must be the same principle, anyway. And the ones at the link looked so much more... normal. Honestly, given how fussy you are about your clothes I cannot fathom why you picked out something so ugly. Aren’t you worried about how weird it makes your trousers look or something?”

“I shall show the link you sent to my prosthetist,” Zira lied shamelessly. “But anyway, no more wine for me. I wouldn’t mind dessert, though...”

Sandy raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t excess weight a problem with.... you know? All that leg business? Best not get dessert, I should think. Everything here is _terribly_ rich. But, do tell me, Zira, how you are getting on finding a new job.”

“I’m taking a pause, at the moment,” Zira sighed, bracing himself for the inevitable tone of the reply.

“Are you?” Sandy replied chuckling. “Alright for _some_ , isn’t it? Having that sort of freedom? Disability pension courtesy of the tax-payer to fall back on while you ‘take a pause’, eh?”

Zira took a breath. “Actually, Sandy, as I’ve told you before, I don’t... no... _pardon me_ , but let’s not discuss money. It’s vulgar. I am taking a pause to think because I am considering, finally, going to university.”

Sandy shrugged with an air of limited interest. “You really think that’s something you can handle, huh? Well if you do decide to try, for God’s sake, study something _useful_. None of this sociology, or semiotics, or feminist basketweaving. A business degree, maybe. If you actually did manage to graduate with one of those, you might even be able to come back to the company some day, as an intern or something. In your forties! Hopping around getting everyone coffee! Wouldn’t that be a lark!”

“Oh, well here’s hoping,” Zira replied, grimly, eyeing off a tarte tatin being sprited across the dining room.

“Well, how about your personal life?” Sandy tried, emptying the current wine bottle into his own glass. “Meet any interesting women on this... pause?”

“Interesting _women_? Sandy? _Really_?”

“I’m just asking! Aren’t I?” Sandy replied holding up his hands. “You never know. Bisexuality is I _thing_ these days, I’m told... and you do have your little phases.”

“Bisexuality is a thing. It’s a _lovely_ thing. But just not a thing that I happen to be!”

“Zira, don’t be difficult,” Sandy sighed. “Why are you always like this? Any interesting _men_ , then?”

“Yes, actually. One. It’s early days, but,” Zira smiled, and meant it, for the first time in this bore of a luncheon. “But... I _like_ him.”

“Good, good,” Sandy sighed. “Well, let me know if it goes anywhere, and we should meet him. Is he the type you could bring to a family dinner?”

“What type is that?”

Sandy shook his head, and waved his fork, flicking brown sauce onto Zira’s jacket sleeve. “You see? You see that there? That right there! _Difficult_! And I’m sure you tell all your friends that we’re homophobic, or some rubbish. But it’s _you_. You’ve _always_ been like this. Since you were little. Remember what Gabe used to say? Blond hair, black sheep. That’s _you_ , Zira.”

“I’m not _being_ difficult,” Zira insisted. “I don’t know what type you _mean_ , Sandy.”

Zira did, though. More or less, anyway...

And, whatever it meant, Crowley certainly wasn’t _it_.

  
  


* * *

“Lunch was _ghastly_ , actually, my dear, thank you for asking!”

Crowley decided he loved the way Zira said ‘ghastly’. His way of rolling it, through his pretty mouth, to create a third syllable, and then popping his eyes, to extract a silent _fourth_ syllable. “You don’t get on with your brother, then?”

“I’ll do you the credit of assuming you can operate the google, Crowley,” Zira sighed. “But, as a short summary, one father, three different mothers, three of us half-brothers, and, not a one of the seven of us gets on with _any_ of the others! Christmas lunch was like... like a perpetual divorce-court proceeding, concurrently occurring in multiple parallel universes, with dinner rolls and too few chairs.”

  
  


“Impressive,” Crowley replied, with a nod. “My family was hot garbage as well, naturally, but at least we all occupied the _same dimension_.”

Zira snorted. “Well, given Sandy informed me at lunch that the family is in fact NOT homophobic, we simply _must_ have grown up in different parallel universes. There’s just no other explanation possible!”

Crowley smiled, sympathetically. “Sandy twiddling the gas-lights on you, was he? Well... I _am_ sorry. But, I’m must confess, I’m sneakily pleased you had a bad time. It makes me feel better about the restaurant I picked... it’s not nearly so posh as where you _lunched_...”

“Oh, posh is the right word!” Zira replied. “Oh no, it isn’t! Stilted, pompous, pretentious! It was _those_ sort of words. The worst sort of fancy. It was...”

“Guh-hahST-ly?”

  
  


“Indeed! Inconvenient, uncomfortable, everything wrong with modern hospitality,” Zira brooded. “Regardless, dear boy, you are _much_ better company, and indeed, if you permit me to order dessert, I dare say _infinitely_ better company...”

“ _LET_ you? What do you mean ‘ _let_ you’?! You can order dessert, if you want to. In fact, I _insist_ you order dessert, if you want to! I did want to check in about the wine though, you don’t seem to like it... Too much at lunch?”  
  


Zira sighed. “Quite the opposite, not _nearly_ enough, at lunch!But, at least this time I have an agreeable reason for keeping my wits about me. You see, I was hoping to invite you back to my flat after... To check on Elizabeth.”

Crowley swallowed. “You are inviting me back to your place. After Dinner. To...check up on your fern.”

  
  


Zira’s eyes flashed, heavenly blue. “Oh, yes,” he crooned. “I was hoping for a tip or two. Some expert advice on my misting technique.”

Crowley blinked and swallowed again. The plosive p in Zira’s pronunciation of ‘tip’ had almost made him choke. “Right... right! Well, I believe I am... let me just check my... why yes! I am _completely free_ for the evening! What luck!”

* * *

Zira’s bedroom felt like a library that someone had accidentally left an assortment of furniture in, bed and dresser fitted haphazardly around the bookshelves.  


It _suited_ him. It was a nice bedroom, Crowley thought. Very nice. In fact, some _very nice things_ just happened there.  


And Harold bloomed on the window sill.

“Thank you for letting me order dessert,” Zira murmured sleepily, into Crowley’s shoulder. “I don’t really want to go into it, but... it _mattered_ today.”

Crowley sighed. “ _Honestly!_ How am I supposed to deal with you being grateful, for dessert, after _that_ performance?! You completely take me apart, and I mean _completely._ Then, you put me back together, and then lie there, all pink and gold, tangled in your stupid tartan sheets, and _thank me_ , for letting you eat apple crumble. I can’t handle it. I _can’t_. I’m _unmade_ , all over again.”

“So, you enjoyed yourself then?” Zira prodded, his voice hopeful and sweet. “It wasn’t too...unsettling? My leg, I mean.”

Crowley exhaled. “I really don’t know the etiquette here. Do I ask what happened? I didn’t _think_ it would bother me, when you... and it turns out it bothers me _even less than I expected_... it’s just... you. But... we should talk about it, right? At some point?”

“It was a crocodile.”

“ _A crocodile_?!”

“And a shark. They teamed up. It’s astounding I got away with as many limbs as I did, really...”

Crowley snorted. “Is this your angelic way of telling me I’m being rude to ask?”

Zira shook his head. “No. It’s my bumbling way of easing the tension. Ask whatever you like Crowley. It’s fine.”

“Was it... was it a war thing? I saw some photos of you err... _in uniform,_ in the other room.”

“Hmm... it’s both yes and no,” Zira murmured. “I was _technically_ deployed, but it wasn’t gun- fire or an explosion or anything like that. Nothing that _dramatic_. Basically, someone was misusing a forklift, and I was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. The kind of thing that can happen _anywhere_... and nothing like the sorts of things that happened to others. I was the least injured person in my rehab unit, at the time, actually. In a strange way, pretty lucky...”

Crowley ran his fingers along Zira’s shoulder blades. “I... I don’t know what to _say_ , really...”

Zira nodded. “That’s why I prefer the unholy alliance of shark and crocodile. It’s a _much better_ conversation starter.You could ask about the species of crocodile, the species of shark, where they met, how they communicated. How I, unwittingly, got in the way of their plan for word domination. What became of the poor beasts after...”  
  


“What colour was the forklift?” Crowley interrupted, very gently.

“Sorry? What? What _colour_ was it?”  
  


“Yeah, was it yellow, or....”

Zira stopped short, looking away for a moment. “Um... this sort of grey-green. It was green.”

“Green?” Crowley asked, pulling Zira back, gently. Pulling him closer.  
  


“Yes,green.”

”Did it hurt?”

”...yes.”

”Does it still?”

”Not always.”

”Now?”

” _Right_ now? Right now, it’s... it’s not so bad.”

  
Crowley’s fingers traces long, lingering spirals down Zira’s back, and they lay in the dark, hearing each other breathe.


	5. Chapter 5

“So...you’re Crowley.“

  
Crowley was facing down _Dr Anathema Device_ , and rather wished he wasn’t.  


He also rather wished he was wearing a hat, because he had a peculiar urge to ring it in his hands, while seeking her permission to date Zira.

_That must be why humans used to wear hats! It had nothing to do with the sun! It was so you had something to do, with your hands, while being stared down by various Anathema._

Speaking of which...  
  


“I’ve got to ask, even though it’s very clearly a bad idea, but is your name actually _Anathema_? Or are Newt and Zira punking me?”

Anathema pursed her lips. “Yes, my name is actually Anathema.”  
  


Crowley nodded repeatedly. “Right... rr... right. But... _why_? Why, though?”

“I come from a long line of hereditary witches. We are reclaiming the word.”

Crowley nodded some more, as though his neck was jelly, or his head was on a string. “I have absolutely no idea if you are joking....”  
  


  
“Good.”

  
  
  
Crowley drummed the tops of his thighs. “Do you know? It’s quite lucky that we don’t live in the Handsmaid’s Tale. Because, if we did, you’d be a witch, and you’d be called OfNewt.... and every time you say, swept the floor, you’d have to say... I, OfNewt, swept the floor. Like.... eye of newt.... MacBeth...and you’d be a witch... so...”

Anathema sighed. “Would you like a list of things wrong with that?”

Crowley swallowed. “Please have mercy!”

Anathema gave him a long look. “Call me Ana. Here, havesome more wine.”

“Oh, thank god! Thank you. This is lovely, you know! Lovely wine. That you brought. Excellent wine selection on your part.... And.... and...um Zira, told me that you helped him pick out spots for his houseplants! And, you did a bang up job of it, so... do you... know... plants? About plants?”

“Not really,” Ana replied, thoughtfully. “I mostly helped because I’ve set up so many pagan altars in here that I knew which windows were south facing.”

“Ah! So NOT joking on the witch thing! That’s... that’s neat! Fantastic. I’m not... there’s nothing wrong with... being a witch is.... is.... great. You aren’t one for blinking, are you? You...have... you have not blinked for many... many seconds.”

“Are you always this nervous?” Ana asked taking a sip of wine.

“N....no. Not as such. It’s just... well, psychiatrists make me nervous. Well... not so much psychiatrists, as psychiatry...and I really like Zira, and he thinks so well of you, and Newt is so important to Zira and you are so important to Newt, and I really wanted to make a good impression and I’ve clearly botched that very very badly, and so I’m just continuing to talk in the hope that I if I keep going I can somehow salvage this sentence and pull a good first impression out of this.... hat.”  
  


Ana smiled. “I like you fine, Crowley. And, trust me, the psychiatrist hat comes off at the end of the day. More or less, anyway. I’d never cope, otherwise. All I want from you, is for you to be kind to Zira, and from what I hear, you’ve been doing that.”

“Yes! Zira! _Fully_ on board with being kind to Zira. Where.... where has he got to anyway? He and Newt have been in the kitchen a while... maybe... should we... help?”

Ana shook her head. “No. They are trying to impress us, poor lambs, and neither one of them can as much as boil an egg. So just do as I do, kill your palate with wine, and get ready to smile serenely, while lying your ass off”

“Absolutely!” Crowley smiled. “That is a capital plan Dr Anathema Device, psychiatrist, slow-blinker and hereditary witch! That is...a plan that I can get behind.”

“Good,” Ana purred. “And Crowley, if you piss off this hereditary witch by hurting her friend, she’s cracking out her cauldron and turning you into something slimy. Then, we’ll just see which one of us is “of newt”, okay?”

* * *

“Crowley! There you are! Haven’t seen you since you went viral, man!”

Hastur’s hand were heavy, and uninvited, on Crowley’s shoulders and Crowley had to suppress a natural flinch. “Yeah... sorry, Hastur, mate, I’ve been a bit _occupied,_ lately...”

Hastur grinned. “Oh, you don’t say! Where are you hitting next? Silver Tower? Those glass panes are massive. Custom-made, gonna cost them a _fortune_ to repair. Whoever their insurer is must be shitting themselves...”

Crowley nodded absently. “Yeah.. maybe Silver Tower, I hadn’t really... Eastern Gate was a big job, and not cheap either... “

“You can’t pinch pennies now, mate?” Hastur replied, appalled. “Your Eastern Gate Viper is _still_ getting editorials... you’ve got momentum mate, the big Mo! You’ve gotta hit another one. Cement your fame! What you’ve been so ‘occupied’ with, then, if you aren’t planning another job? Some bird is it?”

“Nah... no,” Crowley replied, tiredly. “Not a bird.”

“Oh it’s a bloke, this time, is it? You’re a _tart_ Crowley. Anyone ever told you that?”

“You, Hastur. Repeatedly. Anyway, I didn’t come here to get holes bored in my brain... Beez about? Didn’t see them behind the bar...”

Hastur shrugged. “Store room. Something about too much fucking mineral water getting delivered, or sumnat. They’ll just say what I said, though...”

And so they did, when Crowley found them. 

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?” Beez growled.

Crowley rolled his eyes “Busy!”

“Busy with some bloke, Hastur says.”

“ _Fuck_ , word travels fast.”

Beez waggled their phone. “Speed of SMS, Crowls. Plus, a natural consequence of that ‘oh-so-disaffected’ lazy saunter you do everywhere.”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with where I’ve been?”

Beez sniffed. “Well. For starters, you’ve missed two soup kitchen shifts, haven’t you? We were half wondering if those Eastern Gate brothers had you renditioned, or some shit. But no, turns out you’ve just been holed up, getting your end in to some new piece of fluff. Well, where is he, then? Why isn’t he hanging off your arm, like some fancy watch. That’s your usual style, isn’t it? Bring him round...”

“Err... I don’t think... _nah_...”

“Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothings _wrong_ with him! It’s just...” Crowley gestured around, vaguely.

Beez raised their eyebrow. “Oh! So, what’s wrong with us, then?”

“It’s not YOU, it’s....”

“Oh! It’s _my bar_ the new piece is too good for.”

“Well it’s... dark, and crowded... there are cracked tiles on the steps coming loose, and the floor in the loos is always wet, and there are unsecured electrical cords running everywhere...”

“It’s an old building, Crowls... adds character...”

“It’s, like, wall-to-wall _hazards_....”

Beez hissed. “Never bothered you _before_. Should I get myself a high-vis vest and hard hat, while I’m at it? What’s got into you, Crowls? And more importantly, when are you hitting Silver Tower?”

“Why are you all on my... _when I get to it_! It takes months to work the design, make the stencil...”

“But you’ve already done all of that!” Beez pressed.  
  


“They aren’t t-shirts!” Crowley replied appalled. “My pieces are _unique_ , I can’t just put the Eastern Gate Serpent on the Silver Tower. I’m not a _hack_.”

  
“Oh sure. Sure. _Mah Artistic Integrity!_ It’s not like little kids, in the Middle East, are being blown to bits, while you mess about, is it?”

“ _Fuck off_ , Beez.”  
  


“Fuck off yourself, plonker. If you aren’t hitting buildings, and you aren’t handcuffed to a radiator in god-knows- where, you can fucking make up your soup kitchen shifts. Saturday.”

“I can’t do Saturday. I’ve got plans.

  
“Change ‘em.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“But, _of course_ it’s alright,” Zira insisted, setting the remote down on the coffee table, gently. “I mean, I can hardly object to a soup kitchen. In fact, I could come along, if you ...”

”NO!” Crowley all but shouted. 

Zira’s face fell. “I’d quite _like_ to meet your friends... you _have_ met mine...”

”Nu..no. Angel,” Crowley muttered hastily. “No. It’s not a good idea...”

”Oh... well, _fair enough_ ,” Zira said, his smile gamely returning. “I suppose it is still early days. I do get ahead of myself, sometimes...”

Crowley grunted non-committally, feeling a little sick.

”How about your art then?” Zira tried. “I... I would love to see some...It’s so _exciting_ to be dating an artist, and I’ve never actually seen your...”

”I don’t have any on me.”

Zira exhaled, lips pursing. “Well, I can see you aren’t carrying a portfolio, but you have your phone with you. You could show me some pictures...”

Crowley swallowed. The Art folder on his phone was full of giant snakes on buildings. “Nah. I don’t really take photos on my phone. Crappy lens. You know how it is.”

“Oh, yes,” Zira murmured. “I see. That does make sense. I’m sure you use a lovely SLR camera to take photos of your work. But... is there a website or...?”

”Nothing online,” Crowley lied.   
  


_And certainly not photos on dozens of major news sites..._

Zira looked positively miserable now, and Crowley’s lunch was looking for a quick way out of the situation.

”Oh, but don’t be upset, Angel! I could...sketch something... Sketch you! That could be fun... and then, you’d...”

But Zira shook his head. “Oh no, my dear. I couldn’t possibly. Don’t waste your talent sketching me. I shall meet your friends, and see your art, when you feel ready. No rush.”

He gave Crowley a quick peck on the cheek, and unpaused the movie.

Crowley didn’t follow a single scene.


	6. Chapter 6

“Not out with Crowley tonight?” Newt asked placing a cheese platter down within easy reach. “Not that I’m complaining. I miss our Saturday nights while Ana’s working. What kind of psychiatrist works Saturday nights?”

Zira smiled. “A _dedicated_ one. And one that knows the population she serves does not always have much free time...and, no Crowley, tonight. We did have plans originally, but he begged off with a _truly virtuous_ excuse, and so I....”

Newt was frowning. “Zira? What was that face?”

“What face, Newton? I made no face! And Crowley volunteers at a soup kitcheny thing, if you must know, and I am certainly do not begrudge him to the soup kitcheny thing’s clients.”

“Then, what was the face?”

“There wasn’t a...”

“... _Zira_...”

Zira sighed. “Oh. Very well, fine. I... I think I’m falling for him, Newton. He’s so...oh, well he’s just _heavenly_ , isn’t he? So stunning, so thoughtful, such a gentleman... and I’ll spare you the details, but just trust me when I say, those adjectives also apply to the carnal arenas...”

“So, he’s great?” Newton shrugged. “Apart from his unfortunate soup kitchen habits?”

“But... I think I’m falling for him...”

“Yes, you said....”

“.... but... he’s not falling for me.”

Newt looked sceptical. “I.... are we talking about the Crowley? I have spent plenty of time in the same room as you two, and there’s less electricity in a Van der Graff generator.” 

Zira nodded, uncomfortably aware that his eyes were starting to prickle. “I know! I thought so too, but...”

“But?” Newt looked concerned, now. “Did something happen? What did he do?”

“No! Nothing..Well, not really,” Zira sighed. “But, I asked him to meet his friends and he shut me down, _completely_. And so I tried again, and asked to see his art... just a couple of photos or something... and the same thing happened. And, I mean, I know we went to his family’s nursery on our first date, but I haven’t actually met any of them either... which by itself, would mean nothing, naturally... but put all together... he... he isn’t letting me into his life and he doesn’t seem open to letting me into his life and... it _hurts_. Because, on one hand I feel like I should be grateful to date someone so... resplendent... but on the other hand... if he’s _ashamed_ of me... then...”

Zira trailed off, unwilling to continue.

Newt considered him for a moment, and then stood up.

The sudden wave of rejection that flowed through Zira must have shown on his face because, Newt immediately crouched down in front of him.

“Zira!” he exclaimed. “It’s alright.... I should have told you... I’m just going to the kitchen. I am getting us beer...”

Ziratook a steadying breath. “I’m sorry Newt, I must have tuned out for a moment, because I could have _sworn_ you just proposed that I drink a beer...”

“Indeed I did,” Newt replied, undeterred. “We are going to drink beer to solve our problems. For we are Englishmen!”

“And will you be dispensing advice this evening? Or just beer?” Zira called towards the kitchen.

“Advice, beer and sympathy,” Newt replied, returning with the middle item at least. “I don’t like that Crowley hurt your feelings like that, Zira, but I do like _him_ , and the two of you together. So, I think you are going to have to talk to him about it.”

Zira groaned. “But, I did! I... I asked and... he shut me down...”

“Sorry, mate....there’s nothing no other way.You can practice on me, if you want. You know, role play. I’ll be Crowley, you be you...”

Zira glared. 

Newt was undeterred. “Okay... here I go, ready. ‘ _Hullo Angel! I’ve had a simply marvelous day, sauntering around, stopping traffic, with no discernible spine!And now I’ve arrived to drape myself artfully over the furniture, batt my eyelashes, and playfully disparage your sleight of hand skills. So forth, so forth... innuendo_ , _innuendo_ ’... and then you say...?”

Zira raised his eyebrows. “Ahem... ‘ _Hello Crowley. Thank Goodness you are here! Newt is a recovering community theater addict, and I fear he is relapsing. I need your help, but, whatever you do, don’t say the words ‘yes, and_ ’... How’s that?”

Newt sighed. “Newt is relapsing, _and it’s important to me that I can see your art and meet your friends!_ Come on, Zira! Work with me here!”

“Drink your beer, Newton.”

* * *

Crowley rocked on his heels, and checked his watch again.

_You’ve just got to tell him. He’s nice. He’s probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. He’ll GET it..._

_But... what if he doesn’t?_

He’d been having more or less the same two line argument, with himself, for half an hour. Because Zira was half an hour late.

Zira was _never_ late. Zira perpetually overcompensated and arrived everywhere a quarter hour early, to _avoid_ being late.

He _would_ pick now, of all times, to leave Crowley hanging.... 

“Bloody Angel,” Crowley muttered. “Where _IS_ he, anyway?”

As if listening, his phone pinged exactly then.

Crowley was so sure the text was from Zira that it took him a moment to register that it was from a number he didn’t know.

**Crowley, it’s Ana Device. Zira ISN’T blowing you off... He had a fall.**

Crowley stored Ana’s number and then texted back.  **Any idea how delayed he is?**

It seemed to take a while for Ana to write her reply. Dots appeared and disappeared more than once.

**Right. I keep forgetting you are new. Falls can be bad, and if someone’s telling you about it, then assume it was. He isn’t coming. Newt’s gone to A & E so he isn’t alone, (apparently, whichever fucking brother he was with, barely bothered to wait for the ambulance), I’m also going ASAP. You don’t have to do anything.But FFS, PLEASE don’t be a dick about this**

Crowley stared, feeling his mouth grow dry, and began to type. It seemed his fingers had gotten significantly clumsier in the last ten seconds because it took some doing.

**Bad? Bad how? What? Is he alright? What’s happening? Which A and E? Duck**

He didn’t mean to type duck. Stupid phone.

**St Mary’s. Goose.**

Crowley barked something like a hoarse laugh. 

**Be there in twenty**

He made it in a little over ten, out of breath. There, he was confronted with a long triage queue and so he reluctantly texted Newt, who appeared promptly to guide him into the back of the department.

“You look panicked,” Newt observed. “And out of breath. Did you run here?”

“Ana... said... bad?” Crowley managed between his only partially functioning lungs and brain.

Newt sighed. “You are a sweet one, under the swagger, aren’t you? A _bit_ bad... yeah, but more of a _chronic_ bad than an _acute_ bad... certainly not a _run-all-the-way-here_ bad...”

Crowley gasped in more air. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” His voice was cracking around the edges.

“Start by breathing,” Newt sighed. “I’m going to be a bit mean, and make you pull yourself together before you see Zira, but I am also going to explain why. So first, calm down. Tiny bump on the head, but nothing life-threatening. There are going to be xrays taken of his leg, but, I’d be willing to bet, no fracture and no surgery, so, just take a second, and _breathe_.”

Crowley nodded, and breathed, while Newt took his phone from his hand and scrolled through the brief conversation with Ana.

“Okay,” Newt continued. “So, what Ana meant... Have you done much googling on amputees?”

“As in... porn?” Crowley’s tongue decided to join the malfunction party.

“Different conversation!” Newt replied, before pressing on. “The human body is not really _made_ to work with prosthetics. Now, modern ones are very good, especially for Zira’s injury, BUT, it’s still not how bodies are supposed to work. The back, and the other leg, are always under strain. _Vulnerable_. So, he’s hurt his back when he fell, more than you might expect. And there is swelling and some skin abrasion of the residual limb and he cannot use his prosthetic until that’s resolved.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“It _literally_ won’t fit for one thing. And wearing a prosthetic on broken skin is asking for a bad infection. We don’t want to go there...But, we _do_ want him to start using the prosthetic again ASAP, because otherwise he will lose confidence, not trust it, walk less, and walk more unevenly when he does...”

“Which is even worse for his back and other leg...”

“Yes! _Good_! You’re a quick study. There’s also something called knee flexion contracture which we _don’t_ want a piece of. Zira had a bad fall last year, and didn’t cope too well psychologically, didn’t fully cooperate with his rehab, and things got bad, quickly. Honestly, there’s damage from last time that will be with him for good. So... _anything_ you can do to keep him engaged, and positive...”  
  


“Right,” Crowley nodded. “Of course! Anything.”

“So yeah... it’s all a bit complicated,” Newt smiled. “but, you don’t have to run, next time. Waiting for a cab is fine.”

“Would have thought physiotherapists would be in favour of running...” Crowley’s tongue replied.

“You’d need better shoes,” Newt observed mildly.

Crowley’s knees somewhat agreed.

* * *

  
“Angel! Sweetheart! What happened?!!” Crowley exclaimed, catching sight of Zira. He looked pale, his lips thin and tight, shoulders too high, a wound closure on his forehead, and the pink staining of a not fully removed blood stain in his blond hair.

Newt, who had just got through suggesting that Crowley aim for supportive- BUT LOW KEY- muttered something inaudible.

“Oh Crowley, dear! You did get the message, didn’t you...?”

Zira flinched when turning his head toward Crowley, and Crowley didn’t miss it.  


“...I’m afraid I got in a bit of a flap, and didn’t bring my phone in the ambulance. I rather thought Sandy had it, but it turned out no, and _then_ it turned out a kind bystander had safeguarded it, and dropped it to Ana’s office for me...but it all took time... and I couldn’t remember your number, you see...”

Crowley reached gently for the stained, pink hair. “Please don’t worry, Angel. That’s my job! What happened to you?” 

Zira waved his hand, fractiously. “Oh, a wet floor, wet _marble_ , and a neglected wet-floor sign, and Sandy had me distracted anyway... just... just _life_...”

“Someone forgot a sign?!” Crowley exclaimed, ignoring Newt tapping his foot. “But! That’s _horrible_! We should complain! _Do_ something... someone should...”

“What?” Zira answered. “Get some poor janitorial worker, living on the poverty line, fired? When I’m sure they are doing the best they can, with the limited time and resources they are allowed? Crowley, no! That _JUST_ happened to me! Some... person decided to put that snake up on my building... not caring a bit about the consequences to me, losing my job, and tearing up my relationship with my family, when I was trying so hard to... I just can’t _bear_ to wreak havoc with someone’s life and livelihood like that.”

“Zira,” Newt replied gently. “I refuse to be sorry you aren’t working there any more... Remember? Fresh start? University?” 

Zira sighed. “Oh... yes. Although, maybe I was a bit ambitious thinking I could... it all seems so _exhausting_ right now...and, they are my brothers, Newton...”

“Zira, Sandy abandoned you in the middle of an emergency! _Today_ ! You don’t need thoughtless, selfish people in your life, does he Crowley... _Crowley_? Help me here.”

“N...no. You should have good people, Angel,” Crowley stumbled. “ _Thoughtful_ people...”

Newt nodded. “Exactly! What did the Brothers Grimmer want _this_ time, anyway?”

Zira sighed. “Oh, it was _ABOUT_ that snake thingy, actually. Apparently, there have been others... other _snake attacks_ ...on war contractor-type companies, banks, and such. Some journalist is doing a feature on the ‘ _mysterious artist’_. They are calling the artist ANTI-FAng or something...”

“Well that’s a stupid name,” Crowley’s tongue interrupted. “Clearly he’s PRO-fang. Whoever he is. Or she.... they....”

“... anyway, Sandy just wanted to remind me to refer anyone who asks me to the statement Eastern Gate put out. And to remind me that if I said anything else, I’d be in violation of some non-disclosure agreement I apparently signed, at some point...”

Newt almost growled. “ Oh! He threatened you AND THEN abandoned you, in the middle of an emergency. Brilliant. Real _charmer_ , that one.”

“I’m sure it  wasn’t meant as threat,” Zira replied, tiredly. “And he waited as long as he could. He had an important meeting. Some investor... There were plenty of people about, and the ambulance was almost there, anyway...”

“Wait? Did you say _almost_? He didn’t even wait for....?!”

Ana picked that moment to arrive. “Zira! Are you okay, sweetie? Oh! You look sore! Didn’t they give you something? Here’s your phone.”

“Hello, Ana dear. Thank you, and I’m so sorry to put you out....”

“Nonsense,” Ana replied. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else. Now... what have they given you...”

“Oh they offered me some paracetamol,” Zira murmured. “But, honestly, I’m not sure it would do much under the circumstances, so I declined...”

“Paracetamol?” Crowley replied aghast. “Like he’s a little kid with a toothache?”

No one answered him.

Instead, Ana kissed Zira’s forehead gently.“Oh... never mind, you poor thing. I’ll go find your nurse and we’ll get something organized.”

  
Crowley sat down in a chair next to Zira, who, hesitantly, reached for his hand.

”I’m so sorry about our date, dear,” Zira whispered. “Not a fun way to spend an evening I know.”

  
Crowley cleared his throat. “Listen, Zira, about this ANTI-FAng thing...”

”Oh, must we talk about that awful business...that awful person, now?” Zira sighed. “I’m sure I can’t bear to think about them any more. I’d much rather discuss literally any other person. You don’t know them, do you? Just because you’re an artist?”

Crolwy smile felt like lead. “That’s a vicious stereotype, Angel. Artists DON’T all know each other. Really! You should know better!”

Zira’s eyes twinkled at that, and Crowley squeezed his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley settled himself down next to Zira, but it was no use. He barely made it fifteen seconds before his tongue started up again. “Are you sure you don’t want more tea? More blankets? More pillows? More... biscuits?”

Zira laughed. “You have me practically buried in a avalanche of each. All is well, dear. Please sit down, read your phone, and upset yourself on behalf of the Rohingya, Uyghurs, and Syrian refugees, for I am quite content.”

It _almost_ worked. It had worked yesterday, when Zira managed to deflect him into a hour-long diatribe on Kashmir. But Crowley was focused today, not to be distracted.

“No! I am here to take care of you,” Crowley pouted. “And, if you are in anything less than a constant state of ecstasy, at any given moment, well, I’m not doing it hard enough.”

The comment, of course, earned Crowley the salaciously raised eyebrow that he had been fishing for... but there was still something wrong, he could see it. 

Some tension around Zira’s eyes. 

Crowley hated it.

He decided to gently kiss each of the offending muscles in Zira’s face, to offer his affection to each individually, bring them around to his side. 

It didn’t work quite as he planned, Zira’s breath hitched and when Crowley pulled back, those blue eyes were swimming behind threatening tears.

“Zira,” he purred. “What is it? Tell me?”

“You’ve been spending so much time here,” Zira began, his voice tight. “And it’s so _lovely_ , for me, so... but caretaking is so wearying... so famously so, and... I so much long to be _delightful_ for you. Dazzling, instead of...”

“No, no, stop, shush, _hush_. You mustn’t, Zira. Your poor, addled mind has snatched the wrong idea and run off like a stray dog with a bone...”

Zira sniffed. “ _Addled_. Hmph. It was a tiny bump on the head...”

“So addled! Poor Zira,” Crowley soothed. “And now, _caretaking_ , you say. As if you were a remote, dilapidated, but somehow historically interesting shack. Or a lighthouse. Can you please get it through your thick skull, and into the addled, bruised brain cells beneath, that I’m CARING for you? Happily, in no imminent danger of burn out, and doing so because I... “

Crowley’s tongue proposed a last minute addendum, and Crowley’s heart ran with it. “Because I love you.”

“But, I love _you_ ,” Zira replied immediately, miserably, his voice strangled. 

Crowley laughed. “And you sound really pleased about it, too. _Thrilled_! Ecstatic!”

A tear did escape Zira’s eyes then, but Crowley caught it, with his thumb, spread it gently across Zira’s cheekbone, which he felt no immediate need to stop caressing. “You’re pretty,” he said, his voice thick.

Zira sniffed.

“Oh, we are bad at this, aren’t we, Angel?” Crowley laughed. “The pair of us! Know what we should do? Watch a bunch of sappy movies today, for pointers. The sadder, the more maudlin, the... the _drippier_ , the better. One after the other. We’ll steal Newt’s popcorn kernels, and blatantly defy his no-butter mandate. And just watch the sappiest, corniest, most groan-worthy movies we can find. All day. Then, we’ll try this _I love you_ business again, and see if we can get through it without openly weeping.”

Zira nodded, slowly. “It’s a good plan, solid. Great bones. I do have concerns that it may be slightly chocolate deficient. Thoughts?”

“Hmm... not sure. Better have some on hand just in case, though. Better safe than sorry.”

* * *

“Zira, did you talk to Crowley today?”

Zira sighed.“Well, of course I spoke to him, Newt. He was here for hours. Do you think we played charades the whole time?”

Newt refused to be put off, however. Instead, he sat down and fixed Zira with a firm expression.

“Newton, you are getting the same look on your face as you get when you plan to discuss my abdominal muscles...”

“Zira...”

“And, we just get done discussing one sort of abdominals and, low and behold, you wish to discuss another set. I simply _refuse_ to believe I have that many muscle groups...”

“ _Zira_! Did you talk to Crowley about meeting his friends? Or at least seeing a sketchbook or two?”

“No,” Zira answered, softly. “I decided I was being silly. That it doesn’t really matter. I mean, so what if he does want to preserve an image for his friends that doesn’t ...include a boyfriend like me? Or maybe it’s any boyfriend! Maybe he’s just not _out_ , Newt! Did you think of that? I can’t possibly expect the poor man to out himself if he’s not ready...”

“If he’s not ready to be out... to his sketchbook? Zira, _really_! Alright look. Maybe there is some good reason. But you’d still be entitled to it. If I ACTUALLY believed that you changed your mind, and decided you didn’t care about being fully in his life, I’d let it go. But you HAVEN’T, Zira. You aren’t made that way. You need to be loved back, and you deserve it too...”

“He did say that he loved me...” Zira replied, hesitantly.

“Well, there you go, then! Ask him again.”

* * *

Zira took a breath.

_It will be fine. He’s kind. He’s lovely. He’ll understand, just do it._

“Crowley, my dear, I would like to talk about the other day, please?”

Crowley looked up and smiled. “Which ‘the other day’ did you want to discuss, Angel? Because, if you mean yesterday, well I want to write epic poetry about yesterday! Maybe set some monks to making some illuminated manuscripts about yesterday. Or maybe, some nuns? Do nuns ever get to do the illuminating manuscripts? Cause I bet the nuns would be just as good at it. In this modern age, we certainly want equal opportunity in our manuscript illumination, don’t we?”

It was so tempting, Zira thought, to wander off the topic and get distracted in a good banter. But, somethings just need doing, and so...

“I was hoping to re-table the topic of meeting your friends, Crowley,” Zira replied. “Any illuminating nuns among them included. I... it rather hurt my feelings, that you didn’t want me to meet them earlier, because, I felt excluded from your life, but... well, things have progressed. And... and I would still like to meet them. Very much.”

Crowley’s face fell, and Zira’s heart plummeted with it.

“Angel... no. I... it’s not you! I swear it’s...them,” Crowley said, fidgeting. Not quite meeting Zira’s eyes.

Zira set his mouth firmly. “I’ve heard you mention some, Crowley. Beez, Hastur... and they sounded very progressive in the stories you told. It’s a little hard to believe that you aren’t out to them. “

“I... _erm_. Things have been going really well, Angel. I mean between us. Frankly, your health has been a bit of a mess. So wouldn’t it make sense to... wait?”

“No. They could come here. I’ll host another dinner party. Or screen some sporting event, perhaps? I’ll read the rules in advance. I shalln’t embarrass you.”

Crowley rubbed his face.He looked so miserable, Zira almost relented.

_Almost_.

“It’s not a matter of you embarrassing me, Angel, and you’re right, they are progressive. _Too_ progressive. It’s.... it’s the soldier thing.”

Zira frowned. “The soldier... _thing_?”

“Yeah,” Crowley answered nodding fiercely. “Very anti-war, that lot. And your past is bound to come up... and they’ll call you a baby-killer and make you sad... and isn’t it better if we just skip it?”

“You could ask them not to,” Zira replied quietly.

“Sorry... what?”

Zira spoke louder. “Instead of asking _ME_ to be your dirty secret, you could perhaps ask _THEM_ not to call me a baby-killer, for one evening? In my own home? Possibly?”

Crowley swallowed. “I....”

“Unless, that is, you _agree_ with them?”

“Zira... I....”

Zira shook his head. “I’m... I’m not feeling terribly well, Crowley. Perhaps... Could you possibly... could you possibly go? I’ll...I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Crowley went.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t think I’d manage to get a chapter up today... but then I saw a little clutch of new ducklings (Southern Hemisphere if the timing seems weird).
> 
> The ducklings lifted my spirits a little.
> 
> This chapter brought to you by ducklings.

“Silver city!” Beez muttered without preamble, slapping a few pages of paper down in front of Crowley. “The outfit you are too busy to hit? Check out what their tech has been up to”  
  


Crowley sighed. “I was actually hoping for whisky...“

“Read it!”  
  


”You can just text me links, you know Beez! Actually, why the fuck do you own a printer? Did you by a printer just to make a dramatic thwack of pages in front of me?”

”Fucking! Read! It!”

Crowley scanned it. Another fucking drone strike. At a wedding.  
  


“Half way down The Guardian, Aljazeera. A handful of niche articles from niche news sites. Nothing from the mainstream, _obviously_ ,” Beez growled.  
  


_Dead kids. There would be dead fucking kids_.  
  


He wanted to cry.

“Yeah, alright, fine! I’ll do it,” Crowley muttered.   
  


“Good,” Beez replied. “Hastur will help.”  
  


“I don’t _do_ collaborations!”  
  


“He’ll be your look out, carry your backpack...”  
  


Crowley slammed his fist into the bar. “What is this? The fucking Mafia? I don’t take orders from you.”

Beez shook their head. “It’s not an _order_ , Crowley. I’m saying Hastur will help. That’s all. Why are you so fucking _touchy_ , anyway?”

Crowley burned his throat with the glass of whisky Beez finally supplied. Set the glass down.  
  


_clink_

“That’s a _sipping_ whisky, Crowls.”

Crowley inhaled slowly. The bar smelled stale. “You wanna help, Beez? _Actually_ help? Well, here’s what I need. I need you to turn up to a dinner party. With Ligur or Hastur or someone. I need you to play nice with some middle class folks, and not mention street art of _any_ kind, especially mine.”

For a moment, Beez’s jaw hung loose. “Did you say dinner party? What the ACTUAL fuck?”

“Boyfriend problem,” Crowley muttered, twisting the empty glass with his wrist. The glass was cheap. Its imperfections caught the light. 

Beez snatched up the glass like they might from a meddlesome toddler, in another type of life entirely. “Why all the lying and poncey playacting, then? Over some bloke? He a cop, or just the world’s squarest square?”

Crowley closed his eyes and it felt like he would have to fight to ever open them again. “He... he was working as the security guard at Eastern Gate the night I... his first night at it. Got him fired. And... now I can’t seem to tell him.”

Beez choked theatrically on their drink. “ _Fucking hell_. There’s a giant, fucking _global_ city out there just full of warm bodies and you’re after...Crowls, get your end in _literally. anywhere. else._ ”

Crowley looked up, met Beez’s eyes. “I _love him_ , Beez.” His voice cracked over the words. His heart cracked over the words.

Beez sighed. “Well... _shit_ ”

* * *

Zira sunk into a kitchen chair, leaving Crowley to finish fussing over the meringue.  


Realistically, Zira knew he was just making a nuisance of himself while trying to help. Crowley, though, Crowley was _preposterously_ in his element.  
  


The dinner party was progressing about as well as could be hoped for. Crowley gallantly rescued each course from culinary infamy, and Beez and Ana doing the majority of the conversational heavy- lifting, after discovering a mutual interest in Diane Arbus.

Mostly, Zira was just relieved Crowley had _agreed_ to the thing.  


_That awful fight_...

He’d been seized with panic almost the moment Crowley had closed the door. By the next morning he’d been ready to make the promised call and crumble in his resolve entirely.

But, when Zira had made that call, Crowley had the dinner party already three quarters planned.  


And, better yet, when given permission, Crowley had dropped by with several thick scrapbooks full of pastel sketches of occult still-lives, and elongated figures in moody, willow charcoal.  


The scrapbooks were all clearly dated from nearly a decade ago, but Zira decided that made the gesture all the more intimate, and _delighted_ in them.

Just as he delighted now in watching as Crowley artfully browned the peaks of the meringue with a little flame- a sight that was unaccountably erotic- and intricately stacked a separate bowl of fresh fruits for Beez.

“We shouldn’t have gone with a vegan dessert for everybody? Should we have, Crowley dear?” Zira worried, aloud. “I do hope we are making poor Beez feel singled out so unnecessarily. I’m quite sure that’s not the done thing in _artistic_ circles.”

“Nah, Beez doesn’t mind feeling superior to everyone else. It’s their hobby,” Crowley replied, adding a flourish of little blueberries. “That’s why we had to ensure _at least some_ of the fruit was out of season. Flown half way across the world, leaving giant carbon footprints the whole way. Makes them feel at home.”

Zira giggled. “You are such an awful tease. _Honestly_.”

Crowley shot him his most bewitching smile. “And I’m not even trying to tease you yet. Seriously. Watch me eat a strawberry. I _dare_ you...”

“I profess I feel a bit faint at the thought.”

Crowley peered at him, turning a little serious. “ Actually, you _do_ look pale, Angel. Are you feeling okay?”

“My back...” Zira admitted.

“What can I do? Chase this lot out of here and carry you to bed?”

Zira shook his head. “No my dear. This is my dinner party, which I _forced_ you into. It would NOT do for me to rudely expel your friends now. Could I trouble you to pass me some pills, however? From over the fridge? The little yellow ones...”

Crowley handed them over. “Don’t think I’ve seen you take these before?”

“I don’t generally! I try to get by on the Lyrica, those white and orange capsule things. They are good for nerve pain, but not much for muscle spasms. I only take these ones on the odd occasion.”

Crowley smiled. “In my... artistic... circles... it’s usually considered polite to share the good stuff.”

Zira giggled again. “Oh you are a demon! Seriously though, thank you for tonight.”

“Can I give you a hand? Only you’ve been a while?” Hastur called out from the doorway.

“Nah, Hast, we’re grand, thanks” Crowley called. “Just finishing off with Beez’s mélange.”

Hastur smirked. “Now when I have a heard you say that before?”

“I said _mélange_ and you know it!” Crowley growled, and flicked a tea towel at Hastur. 

_He seems so happy_ , Zira thought, joyfully. _So comfortable. I should never have doubted him..._

  
  


Held in concentration, Crowley’s face was a revelation. The junction of his jaw, cheek and temple was sacred geometry, hidden on some ancient scroll, and his smile was the heavens aligning.

“Well, these are as done as they are getting, Angel!” Crowley declared, and scooped up an impossible seeming number along his long arms and stride back into the other room. ”I do apologise for the imported fruit Beez. But, as they say, there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism...”  
  


_I could do this forever_ , Zira thought. _I could love him forever._

* * *

When they finally scooted Newt and Ana out the door, Crowley quite literally swept Zira into his arms.

“Right, you. Bed! At once! No arguments,” he growled.

“Crowley, _stop_! You’ll throw out your back too, and then where will we be? And besides, I’m yet to brush my teeth.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “They won’t fall out because you’ve missed one flossing, Angel. Honestly.”

“They just might, given how sweet the dessert was. And how sweet your friends are. And how sweet _you_ are.”

Crowley laughed. “I’m telling Beez that you called them sweet, next time I see them. It’s been nice knowing you.”

“And a pleasure knowing you too, my dear,” Zira purred. “Oh, and I insist on bringing those portfolios to bed with us.”

“Pastel drawings of skulls turn you on, do they?”

  
  


“Because I’m not done looking at them,” Zira pouted. “You are sharing your work with me, I must give it my full diligence.”

Crowley swallowed, girded himself. “You must have noticed the dates, Angel. Seen that this is older stuff...”

“I did, yes,” Zirareplied, all sweet, expectant blue eyes.

“... so, you must be wondering why I didn’t show you some more current stuff. You see... there’s something of a _theme_ running though, them.... large... sort of, _very large_ snakes...”

He paused and scanned Zira’s face, which against all possibility, broke into a huge smile.

“Oh, my poor, _dear_ Crowley. You should have said! No wonder you balked at showing me!...”

Crowley’s heart leaned in hopefully. Could this actually all be okay. “Oh?”

“Yes! You must have been terrified that I’d mistake you for whoever put that snake up on Eastern Gate, and kick you to the curb, immediately! Oh my poor dear, what a ghastly coincidence!”

_Oh fuck._

  
“Actually... it’s not so much a coincidence as... as... snakes are very in vogue right now.”

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m a coward. I’m Lord Mayor Cowardy Coward from Cowardville._

“Well, I’m sure you were well ahead of the curve, my dear.” Zira answered after a beat. “And the most talented, and the most gorgeous.”

“There’s an Australian snake called the yellow-bellied black snake,” Crowley’s tongue replied. Apparently itthought it was pertinent.

A text came into Crowley’s phone. 

**You are a literally ludicrous couple Ludicrous! Good grub though...  
Silver city tomorrow night**

* * *

Zira woke mid-morning to a sweet note from Crowley, and an angry pounding on his front door.

_Such_ an angry pounding that, by the time he made it there, Zira was half-surprised he still _had_ a front door to open.   
  


His half-brother was on the other side.  


Not Sandy, but Gabe.  


  
Gabe, who _never_ bothered with him.

Gabe, whose face was taunt with fury, and who was clutching a Manila envelope in a white-knuckled fist.

“After everything we’ve done for you,” Gabe hissed.


	9. Chapter 9

Things had been going well, right up until the moment they weren’t. Which, Crowley mused, was how these things tended to happen.

Good weather, neither too warm nor too cold, a bright, clear moon.

Eastern Gate had taken eighteen minutes, and while access was a little trickier, Silver City had beenshaping up to not take much longer.

It wasn’t so much Hastur’s help. While big, certainly, Hastur was clumsy and slow to understand what needed to be done next.Also, he was _majorly_ fucked up on... _something_.

So, the speed was more down to Crowley taking less care. Eastern Gate was meticulous, this was a photocopy.

“Are you still bent out of shape over nor doing a unique stencil?” Hastur had laughed. “Think of it as a lithograph. Real artists do that shit, yeah? Lith-o-graph.”

“Hastur, just _shut it_ , will you?” Crowley muttered. “We aren’t all high enough to be amused by saying words slowly.”

“Say no more. Say no more!” Hastur had laughed, reaching into his pocket. “Let no man name me Bogart.”

“Not a comparison I’d be too concerned about, Hastur,” Crowley had replied, while staring at the little yellow pills he’d just be handed.  


Something about those yellow pills had tickled the back of his brain, but there hadn’t been _time_.

And then, there had been lights, sirens, shouting and batons, and there _REALLY_ hadn’t been time.

Hastur had disappeared, melting away into the night.

Crowley, however, had hesitated. Making a instinctive motion to grab his rolled up stencil.  


His beautiful serpent, lying there on the ground, like a shed skin.

And then, there was _no time at all._

Then, it was too late.

* * *

Newt got the message at half eleven.

**Not hurt. Don’t panic. But can you come home, please?**

Zira didn’t _ask_ for things like that, he barely asked for _anything._

And, to make things worse, Newt COULDN’T go home, not straight away. He had patients he couldn’t abandon.

**What is it? What’s wrong?**

Zira didn’t answer.

Newt saw patients, rescheduled, wheedled, traded and switched, and managed to get through their front door at shortly after two.

He found Zira sitting at the table, eyes dull, focused far away. Dozens of  printed pages and photographs were strewn out before him. 

Zira took a moment to look up and, when he did, something about his face made Newt wish he’d tried _harder_. Come _sooner_.

“Zira? Are you alright?”

Zira blinked hollowly. “It’s Crowley.”

“Crowley? Is _HE_ hurt?” 

“No! I mean, I hope not,” Zira replied, slowly. “Although, actually, maybe I don’t care....”

“Zira, what..?”

“...no, I _DO_. Of course I do, but that’s not what I meant. I meant that, it seemed I’ve been... not catfished... the other one. _Honey-trapped_. That’s it. It was fake on his end. All a _lie_.”

Newt sat down, to see if he could make more sense of the scattered documents than of Zira’s scattered words.

There were photos...

...Photos that suggested no particular narrative to Newt.  


Crowley alone, Crowley and Zira. Crowley walking out of Newt and Zira’s front door. Crowley next to artwork. Photographs of Eastern Gate. 

“Zira, where did all this come from?” 

Zira blinked. “Oh, from Gabe. Gabe stopped by.”

_That_ information was enough to make Newt grind his teeth. As much as he hated Sandy, compared to Gabe, Sandy was Theo-fucking- Van Gogh. “Well no wonder you are upset, if _Gabe_ stopped by...”

“... he was furious...”

“Zira, what _is_ all this? I don’t understand what I’m looking at.”

Zira took a shaky breath. “Crowley was... it wasn’t what it seemed. He wasn’t in the cafe that day because of _destiny_ , he was in the cafe that day because he put the snake up on Eastern Gate...”

Newt blinked. “ _What_? That’s...”

“I’m afraid the evidence is incontrovertible. I’m getting to that part. So... he’s in the cafe, and I suppose he recognized me from his research... or his _casing_ of the place, I suppose you’d say. I’m not sure what he expected to get. If it was about access to other targets through my social circle - _as laughable as that is!!!_ \- or if he just wanted a front row seat to the prolonged fall-out. But either way, I...”

Zira ran out of words, at that moment his breath hitching. 

“Zira, are you sure that...?” Newt stammered, his mind racing to catch up. “Gabe does NOT have your best interests at heart...”

“He was so _ANGRY_ ,” Zira began again, voice shaking. “I suppose, he had every right to be. He thought I’d been _in_ on it. _LET_ Crowley do it. In some sort of _cahoots_ with him. I had to explain that I hadn’t known... that I’d been fooled... _honey-trapped_. I think he believed me by the end, but...”

“But, how does Gabe know any of this?”

“I gather it started with a journalist. There was going to be an investigative feature on _the mysterious artist_. On Eastern Gates less... _savoury_ dealings. On war-profiteering. Gabe hired an investigator, but they couldn’t find him. _Him_ being _Crowley,_ it turns out. I don’t know why Gabe didn’t think to look right under MY nose. In retrospect, it seems like the obvious place. But... early hours this morning... have you heard of Silver City? They make drones, or drone software, or transport drones, or drone training software... or, I don’t know. But... Crowley was arrested there, early this morning, with a giant snake stencil. Looks to be a match for... so...”

Newt reached for Zira’s hand.

“... I feel so _stupid_ , Newt...”

Newt sighed. “Zira... stupid would be jumping to conclusions. I think you need to talk to Crowley. Can we call him, or..? How does being arrested work?”

Zira shrugged. “I don’t know... I can’t... I can’t _deal_ with any more, today. I think I need to lie down. Only... I’ve been sitting in this chair too long. It’s not a good chair... and my back... I’m... I’m not sure I can get up...”

Newt sighed. “Let me get your back pills, yeah? Little bit of sedation might not be the worst thing right now, anyway!”

Zira shook his head. “I don’t need... if you could just help me up, I’m _sure_ I’ll...”

“No arguments.”

Newt headed to the kitchen, the little cupboard over the fridge.  


Where he found the pill bottle empty.

His stomach plunged.

He snatched the empty bottle and ran back to the other room.

“Zira! This was nearly full just last week!”

Zira stared at the empty bottle, not seeming to understand it.

Newt tried very hard not to panic. “Zira! These aren’t a joke. The pills... Zira, I love you, you know this. No judgement, I swear! But, I _need_ to know... how many did you take, and how quickly, and when? This... it could be an _emergency_ and I...”

“I took one during the dinner party,” Zira replied still staring at the empty bottle. “Before that, I don’t even remember. A week or more. And none since.”

“Zira, _please,_ I have to...”

“I’m telling the truth, Newt,” Zira replied shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know what happened to... oh.” Zira lowered his gaze to a picture of Crowley. “I... I suppose I _do know_ what probably happened to them.”

Relief and fury washed over Newt, in roughly equal proportions. “We’ll report them stolen. Call whatever police station he’s at, and...”

“No.”

“They’ll be too hard to replace, without reporting them stolen,” Newt replied, through gritted teeth. “No doctor will want to give you another prescription so quickly.”

“Then, I’ll have to manage,” Zira replied calmly. “I... I suppose people just managed, before drugs were... Call me foolish, if you must, Newt. I _understand_ I’ve been preyed upon. But... turning him in for this? I... I _can’t_.I just don’t have it in me. I still...”

Newt sighed. “Alright... I, well I don’t _understand_ , but I believe you. I’ll... I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’ll call Ana. See if there’s anything she can do, without getting into trouble herself.”

Zira nodded. When he started to cry, neither of them mentioned it.


	10. Chapter 10

Someone was pounding on the door again.  


Zira didn’t move. He simply didn’t think he could bear it. _No more_ spittle-flecked shouting from Gabe. _No more_ pursed-lipped disappointment from Sandy.  


It was all too much. 

Everything hurt. 

Everything.

But, everything hurt just a little less, if he lay absolutely still.So he did.

But, the knocking continued.

Loud. Persistent. Irregular intervals.  


Annoying as _fuck_.

“Just stop! Please just _stop_!” he shouted, and, a second later, realised he’d given the game away. He’d _have_ to answer the door, now. Or _whoever_ it was would just come back, and still be _whatever_ they were, currently.  


Only _more_ so.

And _angrier_.

So, door. _Right_.

He’d apparently neglected to put on his compression wrap before he’d slept, so the prosthetic was not going to be a possibility.  


....And, honestly, the suspension had been more than a little chancy ever since the fall that day with Sandy.  
  


...And, even if NONE of that were true, it would simply be impossible to tolerate that infernal knocking long enough to get the damn thing on.

So... _crutches_.

_Everything_ hurts, but it would have to crutches anyway.

So occupied was he by the mundane logistics of it all, it didn’t occur to Zira that it might be Crowley knocking until his hand was reaching for the door.  


The thought was enough to make him snatch his hand back from the handle. To reconsider his potential tolerance to the still- relentless pounding  
  


He shouldn’t open the door. He mustn’t. It would be completely _ridiculous_ , and at that point, he would _surely_ deserve whatever was coming to him.

_But_...

_But, what if...?_

He took a breath and pulled open the door.

It _wasn’t_ Crowley.

* * *

Beez’s car was old, but not old enough to be cool, tiny, and low to the ground. The paint had likely once been white, but it had aged poorly into an uneven and never quite clean appearing beige. The inside was worse. Unevenly faded grey carpet and sun decayed plastic, with wheel wells full of empty, crumbled cigarette packets and unpaired Birkenstocks. 

  
And, if there was a way for Crowley to climb into the thing gracefully, he was yet to find it.

He cracked his head on the top of the door frame.

Beez snorted.  
  


“Get a new car!” Crowley muttered. “My knees are blocking my ears.”

“Yeah? With what money should I do that?”

_Fuck. Money. Bail money._

Crowley had been in court, he’d heard how much it was set for.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Well, best find out the worst.  


“Beez, did you borrow against your bar? For... you know? The surety thing? Bail?”

Beez laughed. “Tried. Three different bank-pricks told me I was over-leveraged. Eo-vah-lehhv-ridged. Same accent, every time. They must build them in a factory somewhere. Same deal with your family’s nursery, by the way. _EovahLEHHVridged_.”

Crowley frowned. “So... how am I out? You don’t have that much money trapped between your sofa cushions. Greater London doesn’t have that much money trapped between its sofa cushions.”

“How do you _THINK_ , Crowls?” Beez drawled, impatiently. “I guilt tripped your toff-nosed boyfriend.”  
  


Crowley’s heart did...

..well, his heart did a _thing_. “Zira?! Zira gave you the money? For MY bail? You mean he...”

“He does NOT want to see you,” Beez interrupted, brutally. “In fact, he gave me the money on the express condition that I NOT tell you where it was from. But, fuck him, I told you. But yeah... I just quoted a bunch of statistics about atrocities committed against LGBTQ people in incarceration. Caved in pretty quick. I’ll give you one thing, Crowls. He’s pretty soft-hearted for a fascist.”

“ _Fascist_?! Fuck, Beez! _Why_ do you always have to be so... so...?”

“Why do I have to be ‘so’...what? Correct?” 

“ _Yes_...! I mean, No! He’s a _good person_ , Beez. A kind person. He tries very, very hard to do what’s right. He’s just....”

“ _Bad_ at it?”

Crowley decided he should look out the window for a while.

* * *

“You sold all your shares in Eastern Gate?”

Zira nodded. “I needed the... it was _time_ , Newt. Anyway, I thought you’d be pleased. You are always saying, I’d be well shot of them...”

“I _do_ say that,” Newt sighed, trying to read something into his friend’s completely flat expression. “But, you can understand why I’m worried, yeah? Making such a _drastic_ change, right now? So soon after...Even if I think it IS a good idea?”

Zira sighed, shakily. “I just _can’t_...I couldn’t do it any more. Couldn’t face _them_ any more, and...”

  
  


“And what?”  
  


But Zira wouldn’t be prodded. 

“Well, are you at least going to use the money for university? “ Newt tried.

“It... university doesn’t feel on the cards for me. Certainly not right now,” Zira answered, eventually. “I... admit I let myself wonder... but, I think I got carried away, because... well, because of _Crowley_ , I suppose. It all seemed so possible, suddenly, when I met him. New start, new life, new.... family, maybe? But, well... _foolish_ in retrospect. I’ll... find some work somewhere. And, in a few months, this will all seem...”

  
  


Newt didn’t press when Zira just stopped talking, mid-sentiment. But his heart ached. “I’ll make tea.”

  
  


Zira barely reacted. “Good, good.”

The tea was only half-assembled when there was a knock at the door.

  
  


“Ana’s early,” Newt remarked. 

  
  


“You should really give her a key,” Zira replied.

  
  


Newt blinked. “Oh, are you...? I’d been meaning to check with you about that actually. Only it didn’t seem like the most ... _tactful_ timing. Considering.... considering... _everything_...”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Newton! Answer the door, and give the poor woman a key!”

It wasn’t Ana at the door.  
  


Newt snatched up his keys, stepped outside, and closed the door firmly behind himself. “Get OUT of here.”  
  


“Newt! _Please_ let me...” Crowley looked crestfallen, miserable.

Newt was GLAD he looked miserable. “Get out of here _NOW_! Haven’t you done enough? I mean, _really_!”

Crowley held out a hand desperately. “Newt, _please_! I tried to tell him. I did. I _swear_ I did... and .....and _Eastern Gate_. The things they do! The things their allowed to... They’re _murders_ , Newt. Honest-to-god murderers. Civilians, absolute innocents, babies. I couldn’t just...Please just let me...”

“Do you think I give a _shit_ about Eastern Gate? Crowley, I’ve fucking _hated_ Gabe, _and_ Sandy, _and_ that stupid company, for years. _YEARS_! Don’t talk to me about... Frankly, you could have bombed that building to rubble, and I wouldn’t have cared, so long as no one got hurt. But, you hurt _Zira_.”

Crowley folded his arms across his chest. “Zira _knows_ that company is...”

“The _pills,_ Crowley!” Newt hissed. “I could NOT care less about the building. I’m talking about the fucking pills!”

  
  


Crowley’s face stayed blank, astonished.

  
This only made Newt angrier.

“Do you actually not understand what you’ve done? Stealing those pills? Because you _should_. You should know the position Zira is in now. How he has to choose between being in pain for weeks, perhaps months, or ask for more, and risk being labelled a drug seeker? A malingerer? An addict? How, if _that_ happens, he’ll be doubted, and under suspicion, every time he says he’s in pain, maybe for the rest of his life. And he _will be_ in pain for the rest of his life. Between the neuroma, the back pain, the developing arthritis... and so he’s stuck...”

“Newt, I...”

“Months of unnecessary pain! And that might not even be the worse part. More pain means less stamina. He won’t be able to do as much, walk as much. Forget university, he’s already given up on that! But even setting that aside, to you know what the physical consequences of a period of inactivity like that can be? How bad that can be long term?”  


”I...”

  
“I mean, I know you _should_ know, because I told you. At the hospital. But were you even listening? Did you even care enough to listen?”

“Newt! WHAT pills? I don’t know what you are...”

“Oh, fuck off!” Newt interrupted. “Do you think there’s a _chance in hell_ I’d believe you over Zira? Actually it’s funny, because... I _did_ , once. Zira _knew_ there was something off about you. How cagey you were. And, I stood up for you. I told Zira to ignore his instincts and TRUST you. Give you chances. Zira has always been a good friend to me and I very much wanted to be the same for him. And I trusted you, and it made me a bad friend. And, I do not forgive you. Not even _close_. Now _leave_.”

  
  


Crowley swallowed, noticeably, seemingly struggling for words. “These pills...Little, round, yellow pills? Were they? Hastur...”   
  


“I don’t _care_ if you stole them, or just let your friends steal them, Crowley,” Newt sighed. “It doesn’t make a difference. You just don’t get it. You don’t _get_ chronic pain. And, I hope you never do. But, you do need to leave now. I’m going inside.”

  
  


Newt turned and marched inside, closing the door behind him, without looking back.

Zira met his eyes, tiredly.

Newt swallowed. “That... that.... was the... gas man.”

  
  


“Poor gas man,” Zira replied, drily. “You really laid into him.”

  
  


“Well... um.....climate change? The poor polar bears...”

  
  


Zira gave Newt a long look. “Here,” he said, at last. “I’ve finished making the tea.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory- descriptions of war violence and its aftermath, including child death, as well as an ableist slur.

Beez had found a law firm that was willing to take Crowley on pro bono. He _was_ something of a _cause célèbre_ , apparently. But, as crucial as he knew this sort of thing was, it bothered him. All such talk did, all talk of coalition building, of lobbying, of incremental change and whatever the fuck _praxis_ was. 

  
  
It wasn’t about that for him. It had started when he read an article about an injured father in a war zone carrying his already-dead toddler to hospital in a shopping bag.

The image has refused to leave Crowley’s mind, the whole night. Or ever really.

A scream had built inside him. And he’d painted it on a wall, because what else could one do with screams?   
  


  
That child was long dead. But there were always more, and Crowley would never be finished with that scream.

And now, this lawyer, her name plate read Dana Agon, and the name plate’s sticker, declaring itself to be recycled wood was still in place. Now this lawyer was talking about a mitigating factors and emotional distress, and Crowley was trying to be grateful and listen to what this woman was telling him, but it was a little hard to focus on a legal harm mitigation strategy when the world was shot to Hell, and full of monsters, and Crowley could still hear Newt shouting at him, because it turned out he was a monster too. 

So, he more or less let the words wash over him, making a disaffected pun here and there.

She- this _Ms Agon_ person- would make some comment about how it would benefit him if his criminal damage was not aggravated...

...and Crowley would reply that, actually, that injuring war orphans made him VERY aggravated...  


...Then _Ms Agon_ would roll her eyes and say that the _damage_ wasn’t aggravated, even if Crowley was...

...and Crowley would insist that the serpent he’d designed was ALSO aggravated by injured war orphans...

...Then Ms Agon would remind him that while the firm was doing this pro bono, her time was valuable and there are SOME limits to how much of it she would permit him to waste...

...and then Crowley would go silent until the next pun opportunity got his tongue going again.

Until, that is, his mind snagged on a word.

_Zira_. She had just said _Zira_.

“Zira?” Crowley interrupted, mid-sentence. “You spoke to Zira? Was he alright? Was he angry? How tired did he look?”

“Crowley! Should the time come when you are paying me four hundred an hour, I will happily chat about your ex with you! Until then, _focus_! And yes, of course I did! I just explained why I had to!” Dana Agon snapped. “Have you been listening at all?”

Crowley flinched. “Assume I haven’t been.”

“Right! As I was saying! Yeah, you pled not guilty, and, as much as your friend Beez thinks they want a big splashy trial, it’s _pointless_ because you will _ABSOLUTELY_ be found guilty...

”...What you need me for is to keep your sentence under control, and figure out how to crowd source the compensatory order you are going to be made to pay. Some of the things we need to show is that you didn’t act out of revenge OR for monetary gain OR in a domestic violence context, so I NEEDED an affidavit from Zira that your relationship started after Eastern Gate and that to the best of his knowledge Eastern Gate would not benefit financially from the damage you were planning to do Silver City.”

“Oh... “ Crowley replied softly. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I _also_ asked him to see if he could get his brother to withdraw said brother’s affidavit regarding said brother’s severe emotional distress, caused by your damage. For what it’s worth, he said he’d try.”

  
  


“Zira wont have to be a witness or anything, will he?” Crowley asked, feeling a little sick at the prospect.

“If it goes to trial then... _yeah_. Probably.” Agon replied sharply. “There are facts I’d want in the record, and I can’t exactly put _you_ on the stand, can I? Not with that tongue of yours...”

“You don’t think Lady Justice would enjoy my tongue?” Crowley’s tongue asked.

Agon massaged her temples. “Gosh, I _love_ Pro Bono cases! Such a jolly time! No, Lady Justice has had plenty better. And frankly, I’d much rather wager your future on Zira’s tact than on your tact. And, you’d rather I did too. _Trust_ me.”

“Then I don’t want a trial,” Crowley replied, firmly.

Agon smiled at Crowley like he was a small child. “Oh delightful! You’ve seen sense, even if only by accident! Now, let’s see if my luck holds. I am going to try for a community-based order - and you do have some mitigating factors going for you - but, I’m afraid due to the cost of the damage, there is likely to be at least _some_ prison time.I assure you, there will be LESS than if you make me go to trial, because we can parlay an early plea into reduced time, and maybe it will even pass for remorse, if the judge turns their head and squints. I don’t suppose you _ARE_ remorseful by any chance?”

Crowley had no idea what to say. He _absolutely_ wasn’t. But, at the same time, he very much was. He settled for. “That’s complicated.”

Agon sighed. “I’m _absolutely_ not putting you on the stand. Let’s try this. Will you resist the urge to make a loud shouty scene about how unremorseful you are?”

Crowley shrugged.“I did this for reasons, you know. Maybe if....”

“Maybe if you shout at a judge, then the public will hear you and vote all the war mongers out of office, and you’ll single handedly bring Peace in Our Time? Crowley, I respect your message, that’s why I’m even in this room, but trust me. It’s time to stop. You’ll get a few articles at most,either way. If you write a book, you might get another few. It’s time to be _smart_. Don’t trade a year of your life for ten seconds of satisfaction.”

  
  


Crowley nodded bleakly. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“So. Lesser culpability is out, given how expensive and well-planned Eastern Gate was. But... assuming we can keep you down to medium culpability on that one, plus the possession of materials charge for Silver City... minus first offense... minus that we can demonstrate you showed care not to cause injury deliberately not choosing a sand blasting etching technique and potentially weakening the glass....minus a bit for an early plea... let’s say a sentence of nine months, maybe we could get it to seven or eightif Zira can take care of that affidavit. So you’d serve... about... say four to five months inside, and the rest on HDC. Can you live with that?”

The small part of Crowley that wasn’t numb blanched a little, but what else was there to do? “Um... yeah. I suppose. What’s HDC, though?”

“Tagging! On your ankle. I know it’s your first offense and all, but _surely_ you watch television.”

“You told me to forget everything I’d ever seen on television,” whined Crowley’s tongue.

Dana Agon studied Crowley for an agonisingly long time. Eventually, she spoke. “Is it tiring being you 100% of the time?”

“Yeah, it is a bit.”

“Maybe you should give that some thought. Just a suggestion. I hear you have some free time coming up.”

  
  


* * *

“That lawyer had some nerve, didnt she?” Newt grumbled. “Just showing up here out of the blue, expecting you to help.”

Ana hummed noncommittally, and Zira studiously studied his salad.

“Where on Earth would she get the idea that you would be willing to _do_ that?”

Zira poked a cherry tomato with a fork “Erm.... maybe she just thought she’d try? On the off chance? Just doing her job, I’d expect.” 

Words which perhaps would have had a chance at convincing, had they been pitched half an octave lower.

Newt did _not_ fail to notice. “Zira?! You aren’t going to talk to Sandy about withdrawing that statement, are you?”

“Erm...”

“Zira?! _Are you_?! You just decided to go non-contact with them YESTERDAY. You aren’t going to...”

“Well, I thought... I might? Actually. Maybe..? ”

Newt put his fork down, horrified. “Zira?! Why?”

“Because... um... well, it’s all a bit _silly_ , isn’t it? What Sandy said. All that nonsense about how the foul language used worsened his emotional distress. How _embarrassed_ he was at church. Do you really think that it’s fair that Crowley... or anyone, really, should... should spend more time in prison because Sandy was offended by the F-expletive? Especially given the words he uses to describe his wife. And the ones he uses about his girlfriend.”

“Everyone hates a hypocrite,” Ana murmured musically into her salad.

“So, it’s just a matter of principle?” Newt replied, sceptically.

“It’s mercy. It’s _gracious_ ,” Zira replied, half-heartedly. 

“But still, this lawyer just assumed that you’d be ready to forgive him, almost instantly! I mean It’s all just happened, hasn’t it? Crowley’s _just_ gotten out on bail, you’ve _just_ divested from Eastern Gate, the ink is barely dry on the share certific... _oh holy shit_! Zira! You put up his bail? Didn’t you?”

“Do you know I saw the funniest John Oliver bit on YouTube?” Ana interrupted, with an air of fatalism about her.

And, indeed, Newt _did_ ignore her. “Zira, he... he won’t show. Screwing you over won’t mean _anything_ to him.”

Zira inhaled with dignity. “Perhaps. I can’t control his actions, only mine. It... it was the _right thing_ to do.”

Newt massaged the bridge of his nose. “Okay, look. It will be fine. We’ll work something out. Even if... we can always look in other ways to get you through university. You are so clever, and you were in the army! You’re a veteran! And you got injured. There must be _some kind_ of scholarship available... I’ll look into it for you.”

Zira nodded morosely.

“Zira, you look tired,” Ana interrupted, again. “Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll bring you dessert in bed. You deserve a break.”

“That’s thoughtful, my dear,” Zira replied, getting up slowly. “So kind.”

When he’d gone, Newt and Anaregarded each other silently for a while.

Newt spoke first. “I don’t really know what that look you are giving me means.”

“I love you,” Ana said, but not as an answer.

“And I love you.”

Ana nodded. “Well quite. I know, you love me.Very much. And, given that, just how quickly do you think you’d be willing to give up on me? Hypothetically?” 

Newt sighed. “Yeah... yeah. I know.”

* * *

_Beez Kneez_ had approximately its normal number of patrons that night, just a few more than was comfortable, and all the wrong sort. Just how Beez liked it.

Crowley was haunting his favourite corner, attempting to titrate the perfect blood alcohol. Too drunk to _brood_ , but not so drunk that he started _THINKING_. The sweet bland buzz between rage-full and maudlin.

Then, he saw him. Hastur. 

Then, he slammed Hastur into a wall.

“You,” he hissed.

“Crowley, calm down,” Hastur muttered, brushing at Crowley like he might dirt on a jacket. “It would be _worse_ for you if they caught me too. Not better. You ever heard of game theory. They’d play us off each other. And I was carrying. And besides, it’s not my fault you run for shit.”

Crowley bared his teeth. “Yeah, whatever. _Fuck that_.”

“Geez, calm down. You’ll get baby time, if anything.You’ll be fine. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

“The _pills_ , Hastur. You stole Zira’s medicine.”

“Yeah? So what?”

“So, give them _back_.”

“I sold them, Crowley! Long gone. And, if you’re angling for a cut, then fuck you. Lift them yourself, next time.”

“I don’t mean give them back to _me_ , I mean give them back to _Zira_. He needs them.”

Hastur snorted. “Nah, he don’t.”

“Yes, he does! Of course he does!”

“Yeah, well, my _customers_ need them, too. Except, unlike them, your Zira can get more, easily.”

“No, he can’t! He really can’t!”

Hastur rolled his eyes. “If he’s whining to you he can’t get more, he’s lying. Fucking corrupt doctors everywhere, same as everything else. Remember Michael Jackson?”

Crowley shook his head furiously. “Zira doesn’t _know_ people like that!”

“Well, if he’s really hurting bad enough, he’ll find them, just like every other junkie in the world, Crowls. He’ll manage. Someone will spit some out. After all, he’s rich, AND he’s a fucking cri...”

“Do _NOT_ talk about him, Hastur,” Crowley shouted. “Don’t.”

Hastur glared, his posture straightening, a sense of threat billowing through the muscles of his shoulders.

Suddenly, Beez was between them, but facing Crowley, not Hastur.“ _Back off_ Crowley. You are being an arse, and you need to stop.”

Crowley seethed. “ _I’m_ being an arse?”

“Yeah, you are! You and Hastur have been friends for years. Now you are coming to blows over some bloke who dropped you, like dog shit, the moment you got arrested. It’s _fucked up_ , and I’m _sick_ of it. You aren’t better than us, because you play-acted middle-class, for a few months. I won’t have Hastur insulted, in _my bar_ , for the sake of some second-string autocrat, and your cock. Go outside and _cool down_.”

Hastur ignored Beez, locking eyes with Crowley, lips twisting into a smile. “You gonna hit me, Crowley? Go on, take your best swing. I’ll let you know if I notice. But, I don’t reckon you have half the sack you’d...”

Crowley heard Agon in his head. _Don’t trade a year of your life for ten seconds of satisfaction,_ she’d said _._

_That’s probably smart_ , Crowley’s brain agreed.

But, Crowley’s fingers curled into Hasturs hair and pulled Hastur’s head down, while Crowley’s forehead slammed forward into Hastur’s nose.


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

A little known fact about Beez was that they were quite an accomplished spin bowler. Crowley was reacquainted with this fact when a packet of frozen peas - _so frozen_ , in fact, that it was basically a plastic wrapped ball of ice- hit him, _very hard,_ in the face.

  
  


Given Crowley could only currently see out of one eye, his chances of catching it had been basically nil.

“Fucking... _ **ow**_!”

“Serves you well right,” Beez hissed. “The fuck were you _thinking_? And if your answer contains the name Zira, I think I’ll close the other eye for you.”

  
  


“Well, what do you expect from me, then?” Crowley demanded. “You have him wrong. You all do. You all fucking... _do_. And, Hastur was...”

  
  
  


“I could live without the slurs he was chucking around,” Beez admitted, begrudgingly.

  
  


Crowley shook his head, but didn’t argue. Instead, he pressed the ice into his face, and was caught off-guard by a memory.

  
He’d been in bed with Zira. They were both sticky, messy, not-quite cooled off, and entwined around each other. Crowley reading the news on his phone, holding it above his head, Zira meditatively tracing lazy circles across the topography of Crowley’s chest. For no reason at all, Crowley’s phone had slipped from his grip and, well, he’d hit himself square in the face with it.

And it _hurt_. Not in the way getting his face and ribs caved in by Hastur had hurt, mind you, but still a sharp, unpleasant shock.

Crowley had instantly laughed at himself, but Zira had been all sweet kisses and coos, had insisted on fetching him an ice-pack, despite all the fussing with crutches involved...

...And, he’d _never_ hold Zira like that again.

  
  


It was stupid, so _stupidly obvious_. But, it hadn’t really occurred to him until just this moment, with Beez’s passive-aggressive peas on his face. He’d been so caught up in the shock of his arrest, the burning need to explain himself, the fury he’d felt at Hastur, that he hadn’t really realised, until right now, right this second, that he wasn’t going to be able to fix this.

  
  


That Zira was _gone_.

  
  


It felt like, and Crowley realised he could say this with absolute authority, being kicked in an already kicked in chest.

  
  


Tears and grief stung his eyes.

  
“Fucking Hell, Crowls!” Beez exclaimed, their expression horror and disgust spliced together. “I didn’t throw it _that_ hard. Pull yourself together!”

  
  


Because any given explanation contained the name Zira, and because he actually didn’t fully trust Beez Not to follow through on her threat to hit him, Crowley just shook his head.

  
  


Beez _did_ wait, while Crowley collected himself, but the waiting wasn’t patient.

  
  


“Did Hastur report the assault?” Crowley asked eventually, as more of a distraction than anything...

...And, the fact that he had fallen to the point where he was now distracting himself with _potential criminal charges!_ was not lost on him.

  
  


“Nah, I’m pretty sure he didn’t actually,” Beez replied. “I mean, why would he? You did manage to break his nose- he’s insisting he likes it better now, by the way- but, he probably went a little beyond allowable self-defense. Plus, what does he need coppers for? Hastur knows _people_. _People_ owe him favours. And you are about to be locked in a big concrete box with _people_ for months, as it is. He already had your balls in a vice, Crowls. You just went ahead and pissed him off anyway. Because _of course you fucking did_!”

  
  


Crowley nodded miserably, and then flinched from the motion.

  
  


Beez sighed. “What did the hospital give you for all that mess anyway?”

  
  


“I have Advil...”

  
“Fucking _Advil_ ,” Beez muttered to themselves and then handed something to Crowley.

  
  


A little yellow pill.

  
Crowley started to cry.

* * *

Sandy was in fine form. Holding court, with a captive audience of one.

He must know Zira wanted something- _why else would he have come crawling back so quickly_? as Sandy has no doubt put it- and was taking full advantage of the situation, droning on endlessly about the undeserving. The Great Unwashed.

  
  


“Far too much _entitlement_ , these days,” Sandy droned. “Lazy, _entitled_ people, who expect something for nothing. Want to sit around watching Real Housewives all day, on our tax dollar. Oh excuse me, MY tax dollars now, isn’t it?”

  
  


“Hmm,” Zira replied, concentrating on exactly what his eyebrows were doing, so they didn’t get away from him.

  
  


“It’s the schools’ fault, I imagine. Damn comprehensive education. Teaching them post-modern nonsense.”

  
  


“Foucault _is_ a bit wordy, isn’t he?” Zira replied, blandly.

  
“They should, of course be teaching them the three R’s. Getting them ready for the workforce. Like in the good old days. How to lift themselves up by their bootstraps.”

  
  


And then, Sandy got a twinkle in his eye.

  
  


_Oh heavens. He’s going to say it, isn’t he?_ Zira groaned to himself.

  
  


“Or... in your case... boot- **strap**!” Sandy finished, and laughed uproariously at himself

Zira checked in on his eyebrows. “Yes. Good one.”

  
  


“Why are you hobbling about on crutches again, anyway?” Sandy asked, through a partly chewed mouthful of steak. “I thought we were past this business finally.”

  
  


_Past it_ , Zira sighed internally. _Let me check. Nope. Not grown back. Not past it!_

  
Aloud he said. “I’ve been having some problems since my fall, that time. Actually, I probably need to get a new socket cast..”

  
  


“Oh, you broke it when you tumbled over!” Sandy interrupted. “That makes sense. You always were clumsy, and careless with your things.”

  
  


Zira felt his jaw tighten, and purposefully relaxed it. _Right tmj, left tmj. Right eyebrow. Left eyebrow._ He would remain calm. He had a _mission_.

  
  


“Anyway. Entitled people, who’ve never contributed...”

  
  


“I was a **soldier**...” Zira slipped, but luckily, his tone had been mild.

  
  


Sandy scoffed, in reply, almost indulgently. “Oh Zira. You worked in a warehouse! Not exactly scourging Gomorrah, is it?”

  
  


“Logistics,” Zira replied softly. “It’s _important_ , and I was good at it. But please, let’s not quarrel. I need a favour, actually.”

  
  


Sandy leaned back in his chair. “Well, I don’t know. Gabe would _kill_ me, but I suppose enough time has passed. There might be an opening in the mail room...”

  
  


“No, thank you,” Zira interrupted quickly. “It’s not about that. I... I wanted to ask you to recall that affidavit you provided to the Crown Prosecutor. About your emotional distress with the... the _snake thing_. “

  
  


Sandy blinked. “Whatever for? I thought you’d been pleased to see that man get what he deserves. Surely you aren’t still involved with him? You aren’t _that_ pathetic, are you?”

  
  


“I am not,” Zira replied. “Seeing him, that is. I’d just. This whole thing has been rather... _embarrassing_. Me being played like that.”

  
  


“I’ll say,” Sandy replied. “A man like that interested in you?! You never did have a lick of sense.”

  
  


“Embarrassing, yes,” Zira continued, trying to ignore the fact that Sandy has spoken. “And so... I’d like to move forward with as much dignity as possible. Dignified _silence_. From _all_ of us. I would very much appreciate it.”

  
  


Sandy didn’t answer for a while. He chewed slowly, watching Zira the whole time. “I see. Well, I’ll tell you what Zira, I won’t do you a favour you don’t deserve, but I will offer you a trade.”

  
  


“Sandy, I’ve already sold you my shares,” Zira replied, exasperated. “I can’t possibly have anything else you want.”

  
Sandy’s smile was predatory. “I want the portraits. The family portraits. At the main house. All of them.”

  
Zira’s shock showed on his face. He couldn’t help it. “The... portraits? You mean the ones my mother painted? But... but you _hated_ her.”

  
  


“Hated my beloved step-mother?” Sandy purred. “Oh Zira, you are quite mistaken.”

  
  


“No, you did! You still do. You only want them because I want them.”

  
  


“This is for your own good, Zira. I’m trying to make you understand that you are trading away family for this criminal gutter person. Perhaps a literal demonstration will finally get through to you.”

  
  


Beneath the table, safe from Sandy’s eyeline, Zira clenched his hands into fists.

  
  


How he longed to storm out, gather himself in righteous fury, and march out of here for good.

  
But, he had a _mission_...

...And beyond that, he wouldn’t be able to _do_ it. The tables were too close together, the chairs taking up too much space in between, the table cloths were too long.

  
Zira suddenly _achingly_ missed his lost ability to storm off in indignation.

  
  


No. More than that. He _grieved_ for it.

  
  


But, he held in his tears. “Very well, Sandy. I accept. You may have all the paintings of my mother’s you wish, but that statement will be withdrawn immediately.”

  
  


And, just for a moment, _just one beautiful moment_ , the balance of power between them shifted.

But then, Sandy went back to droning about welfare, and Zira was left to mourn for his lost paintings in the privacy of his mind.

* * *

The court appearance was a strange thing.

The room, so little like what he’s once expected a court to be, was almost empty.

Crowley had wondered if Zira would be there, one way or the other. Had _feared_. Had stupidly _hoped_. Had scanned each little group of the crowd milling in the corridors.

But he wasn’t there.

Would never be there again.

The bail, and getting his brother to withdraw that statement, had been a parting courtesy. A kiss off. A kiss goodbye.

And, neither would matter any more in a matter of minutes. The statement irrelevant. The money out of danger. Crowley tidied away from Zira’s life forever.

The sentencing was much quicker than Crowley expected, and had much less to do with him than he’d presumed. 

Although the judge was speaking about him, he was speaking as though Crowley was not in the room. Barely glancing at him, not remotely intrigued by his colourful array of bruises, nor the ill-fitting suit, nor the deferential expression Dana Agon made him practice in the hallway.  
  


For less than fifteen seconds did Crowley get any of the judges attention. He was asked something to the effect of if he understood what he was doing, he’d replied that he did.

_Perfunctory_. The judge knew Dana, knew what Crowley would say. The prosecutor seemed to be barely listening.

  
  


And then it was over. Seven months.

  
  


Dana had been quite pleased.

  
  


Crowley felt like he was in a play, or a fish tank. Or a play in a fish tank.

“Buck up!” Dana said, squeezing his shoulder. “Prison is unjust as fuck! It will give you something new to paint about!”

  
  


Crowley laughed, and then politely threw up in a handy dust bin, while Dana softly patted his back.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: reference to injuries resulting from carceral violence; references to disordered eating; symptoms of dissociation; Beez makes a prison rape joke, because they are uncomfortable, but it is a bad choice and they should feel bad about it (Crowley does not experience any sexualised violence in prison- apart from the _inherent_ sexualised violence of prison searches etc. and... yeah... don’t get me started)

It was as if the world had missed a season. Not that the months had gone quickly, they had not. They had been a strange circular hell- mundane, terrifying, bizarre, and repetitive, punctuated only by bright slashes of terror. It had felt like a different dimension almost, a loop in time and space. Eternal and self-contained. 

In any case, some part of Crowley had been genuinely expecting this carpark to be in December, and yet, here he stood in what was very certainly April. 

He felt disoriented, rabbit-hearted, like he should run in some undefined direction, but he steadied himself and looked for Beez’s stupid off-white car. 

They had parked, for no discernible reason, as far as possible away from where Crowley was waiting.He hurriedly walked over.

Beez had turned up. It was going to be alright. 

_It’s going to be alright._

Crowley’s tongue worried the gap where he was now missing teeth. He could feel the vibrations of whatever Beez was listening to in the air around him. His hand shook as he reached for the door handle.

Beez turned their head with assumed disinterest, but dropped the affectation almost immediately, their eyes widening, cigarette dangling loosely.

“Bloody _hell_ , Crowls. You look... well, _rubbish_. Who knew you came in three-sizes-thinner?”

“Food wasn’t great,” Crowley replied, trying to curl his lips so Beez wouldn’t notice his teeth.

It didn’t work, but they didn’t say anything either, just a quick flinch. Uncomfortable. Maybe a little guilty.

  
  


_It wouldn’t have been such a shock if you’d come to visit_ , Crowley wanted to scream. _Nobody came. Nobody EVER came, and I was all alone, and..._

Beez started the car. “Need to drop by the soup kitchen, before we go back to your flat. You can stay in the car, if you want, though. Although, you may want to come in and get used to the place. You aren’t getting out of your shifts over this tagging bollocks. I had your soup kitchen hours added to your release license.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, thanks,” Crowley drawled, but he unconsciously covered his mouth with his hand this time.

_Oh just stop_ , his brain suggested. _They’ve already seen, it’s pointless. Also I thought you weren’t vain. Isn’t that what we tell ourselves?_

“No problem,” Beez replied, cheerfully. “So... what did you get up to in there? Turn any Screws?”

“Beez, can we not?” Crowley snapped without meaning to.

Beez looked at him with real alarm. “I was just.... _Jesus_! Are you alright? What happened?”

Crowley flinched. “No.. yes! I’m fine. It wasn’t... nobody... I mean... it wasn’t like American Telly or anything. I’m... I’m _fine_.”

“There’s your teeth, for one thing,” Beez replied flatly. “That courtesy of Hastur, was it?”

“You would know better than me.”

Beez shrugged. “Maybe... not. He hasn’t been around as much.”

Crowley felt something like relief that he wouldn’t run into Hastur too quickly. “I’m not likely to run into him at the soup kitchen, then?”

“You can wait in the car if you want,” Beez repeated.

Not much else was said between them.

The soup kitchen was less upsetting than the carpark. It was a chaotic place, but one that regressed toward its average, largely boxes of tinned food everywhere, and so, it was only a _little_ different from what Crowley might have expected after a more typical absence.

“Feels... alright to see this place again,” he admitted hesitatingly to Beez.

“You just gonna sight see? Or are you gonna help with these boxes?” they replied.

Crowley did help a little, but he tired surprisingly quickly, not so much his muscles, but rather his mind, racing headlong into overwhelm.

Breathing too heavily, he sat down in the pokey, cluttered admin office.

_It’s going to be alright. It’s going to be alright. You have Beez, apparently, and this place, and your flat. You got to keep your flat, because you have people that covered your rent. You have a job at the nursery. You aren’t addicted to anything. You are lucky. You know how lucky you are. You just spent four months seeing it. Really seeing it. You have people, a job, a place to live, a..._

“By the way,” Beez called from the storeroom. “Before we go to your flat, I should mention that I killed most of your plants. Sorry.”

“Cheers, thanks!” Crowley called back.

_Only plants. You can get more. At a discount! This is fine. You are fine. It’s going to be fine._

He distractedhimself with the notice board.  


It had always been something of a live installation of Beez’s personal chaos. Nobody else could make heads nor tails of it. Even the roster, Crowley could only make sense of it because he already knew his hours. How the rest of it...

Crowley jumped to his feet, as if stung.

The last name on the roster.  Written in Beez’s loopy blue biro script.

_Zira_.

“Beez!” Crowley shouted. “Zira??!”

“Yeah...” Beez came to the door. “He... he showed up here right after you went away... like... _that day_. He asked if we needed any help covering your shifts, and well... It will be _fine_ , Crowls. You won’t have to see him. Completely different schedules, and that’s set in stone. From both ends. Also... before I drop the subject with you forever... turns out he’s alright... once you get over the.... general toxic cloud of toff.He’s good with the clients, treats them right. Like the _opposite_ of what you’d expect. Somehow...they all like him? Damnest thing I ever saw...”

Crowley’s chest burned. “Yeah... yeah, well that’s good, isn’t it? We always need good help, so... Zira... Zira’s...good.”

Crowley’s mind seemed to snag on the thought.

_Zira_.

  
  


Zira’s unexpectedly acerbic wit, and his sweet, preposterous smile. A salacious mystery, wrapped in a fluffy, golden enigma, all tied up with a big, tartan Gordian knot. 

  
  
  
Impossible. _Perfect_. Lost.

  
  


Zira’s ghost stayed with him the rest of that strange, surreal day. Ankle monitors, and a dozens of dead plants.

“Lucky I didn’t have goldfish!” Crowley muttered, as he sorted though his decimated collection that evening.   
  


Beez had gone out. Crowley could not.   
  


But, at least he was _home_.

Home with a pile of dead plants.

He came across a little dead cactus. An _Astrophytum_ not a _Cephalocereus_ , but his memory trapped him anyway.

_Fred’s dead._

_Alas, poor Fred.  
  
  
_

From all the way at the beginning. From when maybe Zira and he could have even survived the truth.

If only, he’d...

  
_if only._

  
  


... but he hadn’t.

Crowley ruthlessly forced Zira from his mind, threw out every memento of him, along with the dead plants, ignored his name on Beez’s tesseractean roster, and threw himself headlong into the ‘what’s next’ of it all.

Work at the nursery. Evenings at the soup kitchen, or alone watching Netflix. The same few series, over and over. Nothing overly romantic. Except for when he watched romantic movies, over and over, hating them. Hating how they hurt.  
  
  


He still ate badly, he had grown to liking being empty and light-headed. 

And he worked, stupidly and too much, moving bags of potting mixture and pine chips around only to move them back again a day later.

Reality had collected a sort of optional quality, and so when he saw him, standing across the nursery, by the begonias, watching, it took a moment to realise he was actually there.

  
  


All golden and creams amongst the browns and greens.

  
  


_Actually there_.

The man he’d last seen sleeping peacefully, a slight pink flush still in his cheeks. A flush Crowley had put there. Snoring very softly. _Beautiful_. The night of Silver City. It felt so long ago.

  
Crowley’s brain didn’t know what to make of it, really, and didn’t offer any useful advice.

Crowley’s _feet_ had a plan, however. Albeit a _mutinous_ one. And, in the complete absence of executive guidance, they put that plan into action, and sauntered on over.

Zira’s eyes were huge and blue, and his voice was soft. “Crowley. I’m so sorry,” he said.

These words were so unexpected, so out of step with Crowley’s reality, that his brain shut down entirely. It even forgot to hide his teeth.“You’re sorry? _YOU_? .... _ **WHAT**_?”


	14. Chapter 14

“You’re sorry?  _YOU_? .... WHAT?”

  
  


Zira’s forehead folded into adorable little crinkles, and he let out an embarrassed little huff. “Oh, my dear... what you must think of me just showing up! Ironically enough, I came to apologise about the soup kitchen. What a shock it must have been, for you, to just see my name on the roster like that. You must have been mortified. Worried that I was stalking you, or I was seeking some messy confrontation...”

  
  


Crowley blinked. “That... is _not_ what I thought,” he stammered, perfectly truthfully.

  
  


Zira smiled gently. “Kind of you to say, Crowley. But, the fact remains that I owe you some reassurance. And so, when one is trying to assure ones ex-boyfriend that one isn’t stalking him, the natural thing to do is...to turn up unannounced at his place of business!”

  
  


“Right, yes!” Crowley laughed, then remembered his teeth, and found his hand slamming over his mouth. Somehow, Zira seeing that was....

  
  


Zira _did_ see, and for an instant, the middle of his eyebrows shot up in concern, and his fingers stretched out, almost unconsciously reaching for Crowley, before he caught them a moment later, balling them into a soft fist.

  
He avoided Crowley’s eyes, presumably knowing Crowley must have seen the gesture. His fingers reached out and worried at the edge of a begonia pot, while he smoothed down his expression.

Crowley watched Zira’s fingers almost compulsively. He could not recall longing to be held so much in his life.

“So,” Zira continued, eventually, as if there had been no pause. “To back up a bit, I didn’t take... _everything_... too well, at first. Showed signs of spiraling to a bad place, couldn’t really get out of bed, got people a little _worried_... panic buttons were hit, so to speak. So... a bunch of therapy, basically. Mental, physical, _occupational_ even! All the therapies! It was almost like right after I came home after...after the army. Like I _lived_ in waiting rooms. And... right when things were settling down... well... you got sentenced...”

Zira paused a moment then, seeming to search Crowley’s face.

Crowley had no idea what his damn face was _doing_ , of course... his cheeks felt sort of hot and numb, he could almost feel his heartbeat in them. But he hoped his face was projecting whatever Zira needed to see.

  
... he _owed_ him that.

... and he _wanted_ that for him 

... and he really really _REALLY_ didn’t want him to give up and leave just yet, because seeing him again, being this _close_ to him was...

It felt like he was melting... no, not melting, _thawing_. It felt important. It felt true. It felt like he might cry. Cry his heart out in a nursery, in public, wearing ugly grey gloves. “So, I got sentenced... and?”

“...And, yes! And,watch this Crowley! You’ve seen me stealyour soup kitchen! You’ve seen me creepily turned up at your workplace! Now behold as I magically make YOU going to prison all about ME! Nothing up my sleeves...”

Crowley smiled, but this time kept his lips closed. It wasn’t hard to keep the smile small.Zira’s gentle snark, his soft blue eyes. It all _hurt_ too much. Like his heart had been replaced by a scalding hot stone.

Zira dipped his head to acknowledge the smile and pressed on. “Right, so... honestly, I struggled. Growing up, family acquaintances, and even occasionally relatives, would get into a spot of bother with the law... taxation this, anti-competition that, but nobody ACTUALLY did any actual prison time, and... despite everything, I was terrified for you. I had trouble sleeping. And the more I worried, the more I read up on...well incarceration. And the more I learned... it got worse, not better. My therapist suggested that I tried to channel my distress into something positive...” 

Zira exhaled, almost agitated, and resumed speaking even faster.  
  


“So... yes. I’m sure you are pro-charity work, but, you are, _no doubt_ wondering, of all the soup kitchens, in all the world, why did I have to go to _yours_? And, well quite! Here, I _definitely_ erred. I _SHOULD_ have gone somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else. I told myself that it was okay, because I knew they were short someone, and because you’d never find out, because I’d move on before you... _came back_...And, I already had Beez’s number, because of the _bail_ thing...”  
  


“Zira, _about_ the bail thing...”  
  


“... Is it alright if I just get this all out, my dear? I promise you’ll get your chance to vent your spleen at me, and my foolishness. My _ego_ , I suppose, for ever thinking.... just... just let me finish, please?”

  
Crowley stilled again, nodded. He’d probably be quiet forever, if Zira would agree to keep talking forever. As much as it hurt. He already knew the ending would hurt more. The ending would be...the end. It _had_ to be. They were coming to _the end_.

  
This was a sad little coda. Something they could point to. Neat. Adult. Intentional. Cauterised.  
  


Zira plowed on inexorably. “...But then, Beez asked me to stay. She said she needed the help. And I was good with the boring stuff. The distributors. The logistics. I used to do that in the.... do that _before_ , and so... I told myself it would be alright. But it shouldn’t have been up to me. Or to Beez. Someone should have asked _you_. I’m... sorry, Crowley. _Really_. And, if you say so, I’ll back off... find something else to do until September...”

“What’s September?” 

“University,” Zira admitted, blushing. “King’s College. Ancient History. I didn’t think I had a chance, but Newt was being...well, _Newt_. And so, I applied. And I got asked to an interview, but I assumed it was just a courtesy. An old colonel of mine was a reference, and she was an alumna. She always liked me... well, maybe it was more that she _hated Gabe_ than that she _liked me per se_ , but we worked well together, and... well I thought the interview was a courtesy to _her_ , is the point. But they were so nice, and accommodating about it, that I went anyway... and then... I was accepted! I still don’t really understand _why_... but I checked, and it’s not a mistake...”

“Of course it’s not a _mistake_ , Zira,” Crowley interrupted. “I’m... I’m so  _**proud**_ of you...”

“ _Ahhha_ ,” Zira replied, clearly caught off-guard, looking, for all the world, like he was starving. Like he was starving, and Crowley was a big bowl of poisoned icecream. 

  
He no longer _quite_ met Crowley’s eyes, when he continued. “ I promise I... _I_ _promise_ that you don’t have to worry about this _ever_ happening again. And, I shall purchase some Begonia food, as an apology for taking up your time. And... you can have your turn now.”

Crowley swallowed. “Zira...I... the bail.. You didn’t need to... and... _you really couldn’t sleep_? Just because I went to prison? You were _that_ worried, that...”

  
  


“Yes, Crowley,” Zira replied, sadly. “I never wanted anything but the best for you. Even when I was _furious_. Even when my heart broke. Perhaps, you forget, but, it was... _all REAL to me_. I _REALLY DID_ love you. And, I didn’t know how to stop. I’m not sure I do _now_. But, I DO know that it’s my problem, and not yours. And, in that spirit, I shall now buy some begonia food, and go home. Take care, my dear, and if you ever need... I mean... _take care_.”

  
  


Crowley stood- once more frozen- watching Zira slowly make his way to the register, holding a little packet of Begonia food.

  
  


_Wait_! Crowley’s brain screamed

_Zira! Please Wait!_

_  
  
_

_Don’t leave! I don’t want you to leave!_

_That isn’t it. This isn’t all. It CAN’T be._

  
  


_I’m so sorry I lied to you._

  
  


_I hated doing it, but I was frightened. Cowardly. And, I regret it more than I can say.  
_

  
  


_I SO regret hurting you, I HATE that I hurt you._

_  
I should never have brought Hastur to your house. I knew who he was, what he was like... I didn’t think, but I SHOULD have thought..._

  
  


_I don’t know how I can make any of this up to you. I don’t think I CAN make any of this up to you. But, I want to. I wish I could. I wish I could, so much. I’d do anything, I think.  
_

  
  


_Anything._

  
  


_I’ve never been happy like I was with you Zira. There was nothing like it. That warmth, that frustration, that joy._

  
  


_ And, it was real for me! Please know that! You HAVE to know that! If nothing else, it was REAL for me too. _

But, despite how Crowley’s brain begged, howled, for all it sent words pouring down in a torrent- words of remorse, words of agony, words of love...

  
  
despite all that

...Crowley’s tongue held still, and said nothing at all.


	15. Chapter 15

Zira brooded well into the next morning, sleeping fitfully, poking moodily at porridge with a spoon.

“I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think...?” Ana said, setting coffee down before him. It had the tenor of a question about it. _Very clearly_ , neither she, nor Newt, were _sure_ of any such thing. But none of this was their fault, and so Zira refused to be cross with them.

“Let’s just say I might have fallen _a tad short_ of the stoic, self-possession I was aiming for,” Zira replied, miserably. “You were right, Ana dear, I wasn’t fully prepared for the effect of seeing him again. And, he didn’t look _well_ , and... I was maybe three compliments from forgetting everything, taking him back, and paying to fix his teeth.”

“What’s wrong with his teeth?” Newt asked after hurriedly swallowing a mouthful of toast. 

Ana shot him a look. 

“Just curious,” Newt muttered. “Thought maybe he’d grown _fangs_ or something...”

“Fangs?!”

Newt shrugged. “Sure! It was possible that the universe decided to dish out some just desserts. So like fangs or... rat teeth? Something _fitting_ anyway.”

“Well, the _important_ thing is that I came across as the pathetic, love-sickfool I am,” Zira muttered. “ _Ugh_. I’m sure he had a good laugh later.”

“Maybe he didn’t notice?” Ana suggested, gently. “Not everyone picks up on...”

“I _literally_ quoted Casablanca.”  
  


Ana snorted.

  
  


Newt managed a straight face. “Maybe he hasn’t seen it?”

“We watched it together. Also... it’s Casablanca! _Everyone_ has seen it.”

Ana gestured vaguely. “I dunno... _millennials_! Anyway. The point is that you tried, Zira. You went over there, and you faced him, and you spoke your truth, and that’s _good_. I’m proud of you.”

“He said that too,” Zira murmured. “It was almost _all_ he said, and it... well. Nevermind. You are right, my dear. Even _going_ is progress, and... now, I don’t have to wonder what would happen if I did. It’s.... well _progress.”_

“Exactly!” Newt replied. “Points for trying! So what if you didn’t quite manage to quite pull offdebonair, Ice Queen? Or whatever you said...”

“I _said_ stoic self-possession,” Zira pouted, with the small quirk of a smile. “Perhaps I shall aim for Ice Queen, should I ever run into him again. Perhaps at the soup kitchen Christmas party. An Ice Queen would even be _seasonal_ then.”

It was _nonsense,_ of course, he’d never manage such a thing, if the puddle he’d melted into yesterday was any indication. But, it was a nice, guilty little fantasy to nurse for a bit.

  
  


_Stupid handsome Crowley._

“Busy day planned?” Ana asked, rinsing her mug in the sink.

Zira looked up, pleased by the distraction “I located a reading list for my course, and I plan to get started. No time like the present!”

“No time like the...It’s not even, _May_!” Newt replied aghast. “It’s going to be three years of this, isn’t it?Study planners, and post-its everywhere. You’ll insist you’ve failed every exam, and botched every essay, and yet somehow top everything. It’s going to be _excruciating_.”

“It _was_ your idea, Newton,” Zira replied, primly.

“Agh. Just... promise me you’ll go outside, too? Get some fresh air, and exercise?” Newt pleaded.

Ana gasped. “No! Don’t make him _exercise_ and _go outside_! Outside is horrible! It’s too bright, and there’s never enough chocolate in it! Anything but _exercise_.”

Newt glared. “You are as bad as each other, will both fall down, dead, in your late forties, and spend the next forty haunting _me_.”

“He’s onto us, Ana. Best move up the timeline. Cheesecake for dessert tonight.”

Newt exhaled a snort. “The one with the blueberries?”

“Oh of course,” Ana cooed. “That one has _fruit_ , as well as _dairy_! Excellent nutrition.” She kissed Newt on the nose. “We’re taking you down with us, “ she whispered. 

Zira, watching the two of them, tried very, very hard not to be _desperately jealous_.

He waved them out, and then busied himself in Roman Art: Romulus to Constantine.

Immersed in the pictures, the unblinking eyes, Zira startled at a knock at the door, at again when a glance at the clock showed that hours had passed.

He carefully closed the book, made his way to the door, and then opened it...

...to empty air.

He was baffled, almost annoyed, when he caught sight of the steps, the path, the pavement, the outside of his own front door.

The door _should_ have been a sensible black, like all of his neighbours, but instead, it was painted in soft clouds and a cascading pair of angel wings, gently shedding feathers into a a heavenly breeze blowing through those soft clouds.  


All peaches, creams and golds.

And words, words in golden brown, beautiful loopy script. 

> It was real for me too...

The soft, bright highlights of the painting drew his eyes down to the steps, where a curling serpent began, drawn onto the cement in dark chalks, moody purples and reds.

Zira followed the snake, he couldn’t help himself. Soon he saw, chalked in within its coils, a doodle of a mug of hot cocoa, with five pink marshmallows floating in it, a sad little cartoon grave with ‘Fred’ and a little cactus on the tombstone. A little further along came enormous yellow begonia flowers, each petal carefully shaded, a cascade of Maiden-hair fern in soft green, a delicately freckled orchid. 

At some point, Zira became aware Crowley’s actual feet were standing at the end of the loopy chalky serpent, but, he kept his eyes down, taking in every detail of the chalk work. An apple crumble on a white plate _here_ , a shark and crocodile with curly villain mustaches and top hats _there_ , Zira avoided Crowley’s eyes until the last possible moment.  He wasn’t sure _what_ he was thinking , what he was feeling - it was all too big- and he wouldn’t be sure, not until he saw Crowley’s face.

But then, they _were_ face-to-face.Crowley’s eyes were huge and vulnerable, and he held a little potted cactus in his hands.

And Zira’s heart was full, not of any one emotion, but of a big, complicated cocktail of emotions. But _full,_ none-the-less.

Zira rode the silence for a while, before allowing himself to lift an eyebrow.

Crowley snorted, wheezily. “Sometimes, I don’t... _words,_ properly. Think them, use them, say the right ones. Like... like, _now_. So.... so, _snake_.”

Zira had to keep his lips from twitching.Because he was still in love. Tragically, stupidly, _unfairly_ in love. 

Crowley’s eyes widened. “Your front door! I am going to fix it, by the way. _Properly_ and all. Sand it back, condition the wood, paint it the same boring black as the rest of the street. I’ll set it back, good as new, I _swear_. I just... not good with the words, sometimes, and you needed to know... _NEEDED_ to. It _was_ real for me too.”

Zira sighed. “It does seem a shame. It’s so pretty, the door, I mean. You are so talented. Newt will _have a fit_ when he sees it, though, knowing you’ve been here. I’m afraid you aren’t too popular, there. He’ll probably end up burning sage, all along here .”

“That’s okay,” Crowley replied immediately. “If literally anyone else had treated you how I did, I’m sure I’d hate them too. But, I’m talking about _LYING_ Angel, not... I had _no idea_ you thought things weren’t real for me. I couldn’t let that stand, I couldn’t let you think that. And, and... the pills, I didn’t know Hastur took them, until maybe three minutes before I got arrested, and I did try to get them back, but... I only got one. Here see? I got this one back, cause Beez gave it too me after Hastur and I... _had a thing_... but, I couldn’t take it. Actually, I’m not sure you should either, now I think about it. God  knows what Hastur did to them...”

Crowley pressed a single pill into Zira’s hand. The contact with _his_ hand, _his_ fingers, felt so satiating that it took most of Zira’s self-control not to grab onto him, to capture Crowley’s hand in his own. To _refuse_ to let go....

“So, it’s fine that Newt doesn’t like me, Angel. Tell him to burn all the sage he pleases. But... I’m so glad to... it’s so nice to... I am so glad you decided to follow the snake.”

Zira cleared his throat. “Well, I rather couldn’t help it. It was such a _contrite_ looking snake. How DID you manage to get a snake to look contrite?”

“I cheated!” Crowley replied, immediately. “I cheated on the eyebrows. I gave the snake expressive eyebrows. Hence contrite. Contrite is all in the eyebrows.”

“Is that cheating?” Zira replied mildly. “Do snakes not have eyebrows?”

Crowley looked genuinely appalled. “Of course they don’t... how could they... snakes can’t have hair! Eyebrows are _hair_ , and hair is _mammals,_ and snakes are reptiles and... _honestly_! Good thing you are going back to school, that’s all I can say.”

Ziratried not to giggle. “Clearly I have not been paying sufficient attention to snakes”

Crowley _DID_ giggle.

“Are you laughing at me, Crowley?” Zira asked.

“Am I laughing, immediately after, probably the gayest man in London announced, he hasn’t been paying _sufficient attention to snakes_?! I’m only _human_ , Zira!”

Zira sighed. “Fair enough. Why are you holding a cactus, dear?”

“Ah yes,” Crowley said, handing Zira the little pot. “I think you are ready. New Fred. Fred Junior. Fred the second. Fredius Secundus, maybe, in honour of Ancient History.”

“But, I thought I was a natural rainforest?”

“Oh you are, Angel,” Crowley replied. “Warm, lush and generous. Full of life. But you are also amazing, and clever, and totally up to caring for a cactus. You can do it. I believe in you.”

Zira swallowed a smile. “A minute ago, you were declaring you weren’t good with words. Now look at you.”

“You’ve always brought out the best in me.”

Zira’s chest was slowly tightening, as if caught in a vice. “Crowley, I don’t know if I can...”

“I’m not _asking_... Angel,” Crowley interrupted, before quickly clarifying. “I’m not expecting you to just forget anything. I just... if there’s any way I can be in your life, I want it. Any capacity I’ll you’ll have me in. Friend, dog walker, front door reconditioner. Just... just think about it.”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“Get one! I’ll walk it for you! But first, I’d better fix that front door, yeah?”

Zira sighed. “Come inside, for some tea and scones, first. Or at least a glass of water. It’s unseasonably warm today, and you’ve been out in the sun for... however long this took.”

“But, then Newt will have to burn sage _inside_ the house. This is getting to be a lot of sage. Can such quantities of sage be acquired at short notice?”

“We just won’t tell him.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Crowley and Aziraphale fight about politics! Well, it had to happen sometime, didn’t it? Of course the fight isn’t _actually_ about politics, but the words are about politics so... Content Advisory: Crowley and Aziraphale fight about politics!

They ended up with club soda, flavoured with lime juice, some mint uselessly garnishing it, a kitchen table between them.

Crowley seemed larger in the kitchen than outside, his physicality somehow filling the space. Zira couldn’t quite maintain polite focus on the space before his face, his perspective kept sliding back to devour more of Crowley and more still. Soft, rolling, grey hunger.

“Are you sure I can’t temp you with scones? Or crumpets? Both are fresh,” Zira’s fretted, his tongue just slightly to dry to really get the words out.

“You bought metal straws,” Crowley remarked, stirring his club soda with his. 

“I don’t approve of plastic straw bans,” Zira answered. “Some peoplehave disabilities that, they need plastic straws and, making their lives more difficult, when ...I don’t though. _Need_ them. The plastic. So yes. I have some pretty glass ones too, if you’d rather...”

“This one is fine,” Crowley replied hurriedly. “It’s great.” His fingers curled around the straw like it was a pen, then like a fork, then like a paintbrush. His finger tips looked dry, uncared for. Zira imagined himself fixing them. Imagined cool lotion, rough skin, gently pushing back the cuticles...

_ This might be a very bad  idea... _

Zira swallowed. “We should talk _properly_ , shouldn’t we?”

“Yeah. Yeah, probably,” Crowley started. “I...I’ll start, shall I. And I’m sorry to say, but I’m not sorry about the snake at Eastern Gate, or for Silver City. I believe in what I do. I... I am sorry that I lied to you, though... I _should_ have told you...”

“I doubt I made it easy for you to tell me...” Zira murmured. In truth, he couldn’t _remember_ if he’d made things easy or not. He’d spent weeks- months- trying to remember exactly what each of them had said when Eastern Gate was brought up. But he could not. He’d paid no attention at the time. Crowley would have, though. He would have understood such moments for what they were. It wasn’t _fair_. It hadn’t been _fair_.

“It doesn’t matter, that it wasn’t _easy_ ,” Crowley replied. “I _should_ have told you. And I’m sorry you got fired. You weren’t _meant_ to get fired. It wasn’t supposed to hurt _you_ or anyone like you. It was supposed to hurt the Gabes, and the Sandys. They were supposed to realise that they were killing kids and... and _fucking stop_! I can’t _understand_ them, Zira. Why are they okay with this? How do they sleep? A quarter-of-a-million civilians, and they sleep... they sleep fine. I can’t understand them.”

Zira sighed squeezing his hands around the glass. Crowley’s scent was hovering just at the edge of his perception. He couldn’t quite name or describe it, but it was there. Familiar, long absent and missed. “But, surely you didn’t _expect_ anything different? You didn’t really expect Gabe and Sandy to have a change of heart...”

Crowley’s face was soft despair. “...well, but _everyone else_ too! They were supposed to wake up and think, my god! We are venerating these people, who _literally_ convert the blood of innocent people into share dividends. But... hell! Everyone already knows, don’t they?They just don’t CARE. They somehow don’t care. Were there classes in not caring that I missed? Why can’t I do it?”

Zira squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. For just that moment he was far away. Another life. “Crowley... it’s _awful_ , I agree. Civilian deaths... nobody _wants_ that... But...it’s far away. Life is _hard_. It’s capricious, and fragile, and mean. So many people are just getting by. There is boundless human suffering, and _pain_ , and _loneliness_ , and _exhaustion. Oceans of each_ to be found before one gets to the end of one’s street, let alone...”

“But we are the ones _DOING_ it ZIra,” Crowley replied, almost in tears. “Us! Those drones. Those bombs. This suffering is caused by _us_ , and done in our name. And Zira, I’m sorry, I know this isn’t quite fair, but, you were _literally_ a solider.”

“Yes I was. And I find it difficult to escape the impression that you want me to be deeply ashamed it!” The words are sharp in Zira’s mouth and they hurt, lancing at something.

Crowley shrugged his mouth. “Well, I mean, _could you_? Be deeply ashamed of it, I mean? I’d consider it a favour...”

Zira stifled a bitter laugh. “You don’t know what you are _asking_ , Crowley. You can’t just... no.”

“But you can see what I’m saying, can’t you?” Crowley implored. “Even if you don’t agree? You _see_ the capitalist interests, you _see_ blood for oil...”

“I _SEE_ that there were elections, that demographically elected leaders, made complex, no-win decisions to...”

“So, the rest of us are just supposed to lie down and take it..?”

“No, of course not!” Zira declared, exasperated. “But there are proper channels. Petitions. Marches. Non-violent methods...”

“ _Non-violent_?! One, I put up art on a building, Zira! That is, yes, illegal- and I went to prison I’ll remind you, paid the price- but it’s not _violent_...”

“...it’s _destructive_...”

“Two, there’s no such thing as non-violent protests. You’ve seen the news. You know that the _police_ \- the, the _state_ -enacts violence against even peaceful protesters. So, all _non-violent_ protests actually mean is _one-sided_ violence...”

Zira shook his head. “That just isn’t true...”

“Spend five minutes on YouTube! And, what’s more, you know better! You _KNOW_ it takes Ghadar as well as Ghandi, and BPPs as well as MLKs. You _KNOW BETTER,_ because you are bright and compassionate and kind _._ You are better than these corrupt systems you’re defending... _”_

Zira paused and sipped his soda for a moment. “ Maybe the wars that came weren’t over the things I imagined. But, I was _willing_ to fight for family. For freedom. For a better, fairer world. If _democracy_ picked the wrong fight, then we _all_ have a hand in it. You, as much as me. And, we are having the wrong argument, anyway! You _lied_ to me.”

Crowley nodded. “I did, yeah.”

“You lied to me, and left me to get blindsided and get accused of criminal conspiracy by Gabe, and you brought a drug-dealing thief into my home.”

“Yes. And I won’t _ever_ do those things again,” Crowley replied, reaching unconsciously for Zira’s hand. “But I won’t stop protesting. I might... change tack... I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. But I won’t bend to a broken system, Zira. I won’t vote Tory, or _thank you for your service_.”

“I’m not asking you to! I’ve NEVER asked you too!” Zira pleaded, although for what, he wasn’t sure. “I think I asked, _exactly one time_ , if you could ask your friends not to call me a baby killer, and, by extension, asked you yourself to also refrain, I suppose. Is that such a big ask? _Really_?”

“No, it isn’t,” Crowley replied sullenly.

“No, it isn’t! Is it?” Zira snapped. “Would you like a scone?!”

“Why do you keep trying to give me scones?”

“You’re too thin!”

“I _like_ being thin!”

“Really?! You look miserable!”

“What if I _like_ being miserable?” Crowley roared. 

Newt spoke up from the doorway. “Never mind _outside_ , what the fuck is going on _in here??_ ”

Zira swung around guiltily. “Morning tea?”

“Alright, Newt?” Crowley added, a moment later. “Don’t worry. I’m going to fix the door back.”

“I don’t want you too,” Zira broke in, quickly. “I’ll buy a new door. I want to keep that one.... er... _somewhere_. It’s too pretty to paint over. I.... _want_ it.”

“Yeah... because, let’s all discuss the front door,” Newt sighed. “Lord knows, _that’s_ the issue here. I’m home because I brought lunch, Zira...”

Crowley stood up. “I can get out of your way...” he stopped talking then, because he realised that the real conversation, about who would eat the lunch Newt brought, was occurring silently between Newt and Zira.

“I’ll just leave this here, then, “ Newt said eventually, offering Crowley a furious glare and an overly-broad, _overly-toothy_ smile. “Zira, text me later, yeah. Please?”

Zira nodded, before turning back to Crowley. “Sorry. He _worries_...”

“Honestly, Angel, it’s fine,” Crowley sighed. “I do _get_ it...”

Zira felt himself smile. “This isn’t easy, is it? But... but... I don’t know. Feel like lunch?”

Crowley looked at the bag Newt had left, queasily. “Umm... maybe? I... _what_ is it...?”

“I don’t know. But, I do know Newt, so I am going to guess it’s chicken salad wraps... will that be alright? With your...” Zira trailed off, embarrassed.

“Teeth. Yes... you can _say_ it.”

“Crowley....”

“I will get them fixed, you know,” Crowley muttered. “I’m working on it... the problem is the NHS, if it will fix them at all, will pay for bridges, not implants... but bridges would mean damaging more teeth. And, because of my age, I... well, it’s a whole thing. A whole, boring, difficult thing.”

Zira squirmed in sympathy. “I expect so, my dear. These bureaucratic things can be usually are. And it’s especially hard when ones self esteem is involved...”

“I’m not vain....” Crowley muttered.

“You are definitely a _bit_ vain,” Zira replied, gently, “but that’s alright. I’m sure I am too. I’ve had my moments. Crowley... why don’t you let me pay to get the implants done...?”

“ _No_!”

“ _Loan_ you the money, then....”

“That’s _worse_! Zira, please just _stop_!”

Zira sighed. “My dear, I just want to help. I can’t fix your legal problems, but I could do this. You are trying to do so many difficult things at once...”

Crowley closed his eyes. “Exactly. I’m trying to rebuild _us_... as much as is possible, anyway. And it is difficult, and bringing more _money_ and more _obligation_ into it, will only make it _harder_. I’ll manage, Zira. I promise. Believe it or not, there are even some fundraising funds people sent to... well, I don’t know exactly. While I may be on the political fringe, it’s a big planet, and that fringe is still a lot of people... there’s some support behind me. It just sucks that that money will be spent on dumb things like Eastern Gate, or Eastern Gate’s _Insurance Company,_ or my teeth, and not something...”

“Something what?”

“Something pure! Something clean! Something that isn’t dirty and corrupt and messed up.”

  
  


Zira shook his head. “I’m not sure that there is such a thing in the wide world, Crowley.”

Crowley looked up, his gaze intense. Unbearable. “There’s you...”

“Wasn’t I complicit in the deaths of a quarter million innocent civilians a minute ago?” Zira replied, not ready to be charmed so completely.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Crowley rasped. “It’s all so hard, and so sad, and so infuriating, and pointless and _I DON’T KNOW_ anymore. I don’t know how I’m supposed to live in this world. How I’m supposed to just swallow all this injustice and sadness?”   
  


Zira paused before replying. “You could maybe start by eating something, my dear. Crowley, I’m _worried_ about you. I don’t think you are eating, and the way you are talking just now...”

“Okay, yes, then. Give me the mystery Newt lunch.”

It was indeed a chicken salad wrap. “Spot on,” Crowley remarked, drily.

“Actually no. I’m honestly astonished that Newt had cheese put on them! Especially after the cheesecake conspiracy this morning. Will wonders never cease! Speaking of cheesecake, I... I don’t suppose you can stay for dinner? Strictly so I can ensure you eat, of course.”

“Fraid not, Angel. Not unless I want to go back to prison.” Crowley flashed his ankle monitor.

Zira regarded it with polite interest. “I see. Frankly, I have much better ankle hardware than _that_.”

“You certainly do!” Crowley muttered. “I have to _charge_ this thing, if you can imagine the indignity of it! Like I’m an appliance.”

Zira considered this information. “What happens if the electricity goes out?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley admitted. “But, it would be in a brochure somewhere, and it probably involves phoning the service company, and convincing some underpaid worker of my moral blamelessness in the matter. It’ll be something like that.”

“Perhaps I could come over to your place, at night, sometimes,” Zira suggested mildly. “If we are doing... whatever it is we’re doing, we’ll need to spend _some_ time together.”

Crowley sighed. “There are a lot of stairs...”

“That sounds inconvenient, but it’s for a limited time, and extreme circumstances, so I suppose I’ll manage.”

“You shouldn’t be wearing yourself out for me,” Crowley murmured. “You have your university to get ready for...”

“It’s a shame you and Newt aren’t speaking,” Zira observed, lightly. “The pair of you make an excellent Greek chorus.”

“It feels _wrong_ that you should suffer more from this...”

“Well... that’s just how it works, sometimes,” Zira sighed. “Life, and...whatever this is.”

Crowley studied his fingernails. “We are going to need a word. This ‘ _whatever-this-is_ ’ business will get old fast.”

Zira arched an eyebrow. “Very well. If you must have a word to describe where we are, how about ‘ _probation_ ’...?”

Crowley pursed his lips. “Not  _that_ word, no.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Discussion of illegal drugs, Disordered eating. 
> 
> I have had so many extraordinarily kind, thoughtful, and personal comments on this fic. And they mean more than I can say. I hate that I’m not responding to all of you. I can only plead to what you already know... that I’m neither a quick, nor precise writer...and I don’t have half the time to devote to this that I would wish.
> 
> Please know that when I make a straight choice between writing more story, and offering my banal thoughts on your extraordinary comments, I’m picking the former, because I’m assuming that it what you yourself would prefer and that it is with regret that I can’t do both!

“Are you _sure_ we can’t have him arrested over the door thing?” Newt muttered.

“Oh, how can you say such a thing, Newton? It’s _beautiful_. Certainly the most beautiful gift I’ve ever gotten. If I wasn’t so intimidated by the neighbours I would keep it as my front door forever.”

Newt groaned. “Honestly Zira. It’s a good thing I love you, because if I didn’t I think I’d slap you silly.”

“It’s too heavy to use for a screen,” Ana added, thoughtfully. “The door, I mean, but I do wonder if we could turn it into a coffee table or an end table or something? It’s a certainly a conversation piece.”

“Oh, I like that idea,” Zira replied happily. “Perhaps I shall purchase some hardware along with the new door. Hammers and such.”

“Maybe I should be in charge of the actual wood-working, though, Zira,” Ana replied, chewing her lip. “I fully admit it’s irrational, but something about you in proximity to a table-saw sets my teeth on edge.”

Newt cleared his throat.“I’m sorry about these two, Elephant-in-the-room.But don’t worry, I, for one, _DO_ acknowledge your existence!”

“Who are you talking to, Newt?” Ana asked, innocently.

Newt balked. “The bloody, great big..! _Seriously_?! Are we seriously not going to talk about this? Was everyone else hit on the head, by a cartoon rabbit with a mallet? What is _happening,_ right now? Why are we pretending this is anything but a terrible idea?”

Zira sighed. “It’s... I’ve got my eyes open, Newt. I just... well, nothing’s been _decided_ , anyway. This might just be... _friends_. And there’s nothing wrong with being friends with ones... exes? Is there? It’s mature. _Cosmopolitan_. Anyway, it’s really more of a straight-person thing to burn all bridges after a breakup, and...”

“Zira! Are you trying to gaslight me with wokeness?!” Newt replied. “I think my head is going to explode. Ana, please! As a mental health professional, how can you think this is anything but a cosmically bad idea?!”

Ana sighed. “Zira is my friend, not my patient, Newt. And as a friend, _and a mental health professional_ , I endorse Zira making his own choices in life.”

“Zira is my friend, too,” Newt replied “And...”

“ _Zira_ is standing right here!” Zira said. “Complete with his own opinions. And, _Zira_ will have dinner with whomever he pleases!”

“At _his_ flat, I might point out.”

“It _has_ to be his flat...”

Newt rolled his eyes. “Yes, Zira, it does indeed _have_ to be at his flat. Why is that, huh? _Remind_ me!”

“Newt, I appreciate your concern, but...”

“You are going to do what you are going to do. I know. My concern, Zira, is that you are doing this because you don’t think you _deserve_ any better, or can’t _have_ any better. I don’t like it.”

“My dear, you are a physiotherapist. Your entire vocation is doing what you can to ensure people get their best chance at the life they want. Explain to me why I shouldn’t give Crowley a second chance.”

Newt sighed. “I... look. There are _plenty_ more people out there. People who haven’t _lied_ to you and _stolen_ from you...”

“That was his friend, not...”

“...don’t split hairs, okay? _Plenty_ of other people, without this huge issue to overcome. This huge trust deficit. I want you to have fun, and feel good about yourself. Crowley is very clearly a mess right now, and you were, very recently, a mess because of him. So, chances are this ends... well... in a _mess_.”

Zira sighed. “I won’t give up on someone just because things aren’t easy right now. People aren’t disposable.”

“Of course they aren’t! But you don’t _owe_ him anything. If you are doing this out of some debt of loyalty you think you owe him...”

“That’s not why....”

“Then why, Zira? _Tell me_.”

“I can’t give you an answer that doesn’t make me sound like a child. Because, I like him. Because, I can’t stop thinking about him. Because, _stomach butterflies_. Because, he’s so gifted, it thrills me. Because, his hair is soft. Because of the look in his eyes when he said he was proud of me. Because he painted my front door, and chalked the pavement, and remembered the name of my dead cactus. Because he smells like cinnamon and I can’t figure out why. Because, _a million things._ Because, I don’t know. Because, I’m in love, I think.”

Newt sighed, his eyes drifting, almost unconsciously, to Ana. “Yeah... yeah, okay. I’ll get on board. Can’t say that I’m thrilled, but... is there something in between giving my blessing, and not railing against it constantly?”

“I think it’s called ‘ _letting it go already_ ’ “ Ana mused.

“Ugh. Fine.”

* * *

Crowley fussed with the sauce, perpetually attempting to balance it to his understanding of Zira’s taste rather than his own, and perpetually second guessing himself.  


Zira was more of a _enthusiastic_ gourmand than a _snobbish_ one. But, there was a limit to what he could control about the evening, and Zira was now twenty minutes late, and so the quest for an elusive umamiwas as good a preoccupation as any.

The knock on his door was polite and accompanied with a text.

**_Only me_ **

The ‘only’ struck Crowley as funny. 

_Only_.

He opened the door. Zira looked tired and remorseful. Crowley’s arms reached for him unconsciously.

“I’m so sorry to be late, my dear, and worse, empty-handed. I did bring wine, but I’m afraid I abandoned it two landings ago. The Tube was rather full, and so, no seat, and those stairs are quite the challenge, not least due to the shaky hand-rail. I _do_ hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Come an sit down,” Crowley replied, his arms attempting to transition from a hug, to a way to be useful. “Table or sofa? Wherever will be more comfortable. We can eat wherever you get settled. Also, you can’t get a seat on the Tube?”

“I probably could,” Zira admitted. “If I was willing to make a _fuss_ , or some sort of _spectacle_ of myself. But, I hate doing it. Asking for ‘volunteers’. One can never tell what any one person is dealing with at any moment. I thought I’d manage, and on a more efficient trip I likely would have been. But, naturally, _strange delays_.”

“I do like to make up interesting reasons for Tube delays,” Crowley admitted, as Zira settled with clear relief, on the sofa. “Pirates, aliens, megalomaniac alligators. What do you think of the place? Apart from the stairs and handrails?”

Crowley expected Zira to remove his leg for comfort, as he would usually do after such a situation. But Zira didn’t. Instead, he sat, somewhat primly at the sofa with his knee bent less than might be typical of someone else, but, also more than Crowley knew was truly comfortable for him.

_He isn’t comfortable_ , Crowley realised. _Here with me_. He was trying not to take up space. Crowley hated it.

“I think the place has a lovely, artistic, _bohemian_ quality to it,” Zira mused, politely. “Although, I must say, I was expecting a great many more house plants.”

“Those were some truly _diplomatic_ synonyms for ‘hovel’,” Crowley replied, sitting down next to him, after a quick calculation on simmering times. “I appreciate your tact, as ever! And, I did indeed have a ‘great many more houseplants’, but, I’m afraid, there was something of a mass casualty event.”

Zira’s brow furrowed in concern. “Oh no, my dear! What happened?”

“Oh! Funny story,” Crowley replied, lightly. “I went to prison. Not sure if you heard...”

Zira blinked. “Oh! But surely your friends...? Beez and... and... that _Hastur_ fellow.”

“Beez is a busy person,” Crowley replied shortly. “Busy, busy Beez. They _intended_ to take care of my plants, I think. But, between the bar and the soup kitchen... well, they were only plants, weren’t they? And, as for Hastur, he hasn’t been around much...”

“So... Hastur’s not likely to _pop in_ here unexpectedly?” Zira asked, and Crowley did not miss that maybe a third of the tension melted out of Zira’s shoulders.

“No,” Crowley replied. “And, he wouldn’t be welcome if he did. Quite apart from stealing from you. He’s preoccupied with Ice at the moment.”

Zira blinked. “Is he a skiier?”

“Who, _Hastur_? No...?”

“Oh, um... Hockey-player? I assume he doesn’t figure skate...”

Crowley shook his head. “What? Oh no! Not ‘ice’ Ice. Ice means _Crystal_.”

“Is she his girlfriend?”

“ _Meth_ , Angel! I’m saying Hastur is on _meth_ again.”

“Oh, I’m so silly!” Zira replied, with an uncomfortable chuckle. “Of course, that’s what you meant. Sorry. I’d forgotten that ‘Ice’ was slang, and my brain got off-track. Meth is the ragey one, isn’t it? The ragey one that isn’t steroids?”

Crowley smiled. “Yeah, that’s the one. The one that supermarket clerks assume I am taking when they see my teeth.” 

“My poor Crowley.” Zira replied, softly. “I do hope such clerks keep their thoughts to themselves! And busy or not, Beez should have cared for your plants. Or at least mentioned on a visit that they couldn’t, so you could make other arrangements in time.”

“Beez never visited,” Crowley blurted out. “No one did, actually.”

Zira’s eyes widened. “You can’t be... _no-one_?! But, that’s _awful_... Visits are so important! _Everyone_ says that they are critical for... “ Zira trailed off, embarrassed. 

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, I... I could very well have the wrong end of the stick. But I read some blogs, watched some videos. The importance of visits, how much they were looked forward to, and prepared for, how much they meant to people, even if they were hard,  it was something of a _running theme_. I suppose, I don’t like to think of you not having even _that_...”

“It’s over now. It doesn’t matter. Didn’t mean to bring it up.”

A moment later, some spirit of oven-timers took pity on Crowley, and he was able to escape the room for a moment.

* * *

“This is _truly_ delicious. Please eat more of yours! It mustn’t go to waste. Far too heavenly!”

Crowley attempted to pass his bowl over.

“I won’t hear of it,” Zira replied, firmly. “You’ve not eaten enough to keep a sparrow alive.”

“And yet, here I sit.”

“My dear, can we discuss getting you some therapy, please?” Zira murmured. “I think you are traumatised from prison.”

“You’ve read too many blogs, I’m fine,” Crowley replied gently.

Zira kept staring, looking miserable.

“Maybe, _after_ I find the money for my teeth,” Crowley added.

_Lying to him already are we, Crowley?_ asked Crowley’s brain. _That resolution faded quickly. Even by your standards._

“We must arrange both,” Zira replied. “Would you permit me to speak to Ana? Investigate possibilities?”

“I won’t have you paying for it.”

“Possibilities _other_ than that, then?”

  
  


“You can ask Ana anything you like. She’s your friend.” 

Zira sighed. “On another topic, I’m afraid I’m about to ask another awkward favour, my dear. Will you permit me the use of your sofa tonight? I do not think I can face those stairs again. _Down_ is worse than _Up_ , in my opinion. And then, the _tube_. I do realise it’s not ideal, but...”

“Your back, though,” Crowley replied firmly. “You’ll need the mattress.”

“You don’t mind sharing?” Zira asked. “That seems awfully _presumptuous_ of me, considering everything...

“I meant _I’d_ sleep on the sofa, actually...”Crowley replied.

“...Oh, but I couldn’t...”

“... not that I wouldn’t want to...”

They stopped. Looking at each other.

“I miss you, Zira,” Crowley said, at length. “Sleeping with you. The _sleeping_ part, I mean. And the other part. All the parts.”

“I should say something witty” Zira replied. “But my headache...”

“I’ll take the witticism as read, Angel, I swear. If your head hurts, I’ll get you something for it, and get you lying down, somewhere dark.”

“Just too much wine, I think,” Zira sighed. “Maybe it’s a good thing I abandoned that other bottle on the way up.”

“Depends how old the kids that found it were, I suppose,” Crowley joked, but felt bad for it when Zira looked instantly horrified. “I’m _joking_ Angel. It wouldn’t have been a kid. No kids in the building really.”

_Teenagers don’t count..._

“I miss it too,”. Zira said then. “Holding you, being held by you. Your arms are nice.”

“I’m sorry about this,” Crowley muttered. “You having to come here to spend the evening together. For having such a stupid apartment in the first place.”

“It’s been well worth it, my dear.”

Crowley smiled. “Really? You’ve not even had dessert yet...”

  
  


“Oh?”

“ _Actual_ dessert, Angel. Actual dessert! As if I would make you climb approximately 50,000 steps, and not provide dessert! It’s apple crumble. Lovely, locally grown, big, green apples. Each one cost more than Beez’s car...”

Zira didn’t laugh. “Crowley, about Beez... I... I don’t like that they didn’t come to visit you. Um... I’d like you to promise that next time you’ll put me down on...your list thing. And Ana and Newt. You should have _people_. And we should watch your plants then, too...”

“Next time?” Crowley frowned. “What are you talking about, Angel.”

Zira looked away. “Well... you said you wouldn’t stop, Crowley. And, they know who you are now. The police. It’s surely just a matter of time, until... And, I’ve tried to make peace with it... and, I’ll climb as many stairs as it takes to spend time with you while I can... but, as much as I don’t like thinking about it, I... however, all _this_ goes, even if we do end in a mess, I promise I’ll still come and visit. You should have _people_.”

Crowley sighed. “You shouldn’t judge Beez too harshly, Angel. They are involved in some not-exactly-legal activism themselves, and those visiting lists are part of the record. _Known associates_. I get why they didn’t come. And... just for the record, I _did_ have you on my visitors list....”

“Oh, _Crowley_! I didn’t know. Were you expecting me to...? I had no _idea_ that you would want to see me...”

“No.. no, Angel. I’m not blaming _you_. That would be absurd. How could you have..? Not _blaming_. Just _saying_. And, why are we talking about this now?”

Zira hesitated for a moment. “Last time it just fell out of the blue. I fell asleep, with you beside me, and then...”

“I’m sorry. I... are you worried about that happening again?”

“Well, _of course I am_!” 

Crowley blinked. “Well, it _won’t_... I only didn’t tell you about Silver City, because I couldn’t tell you _any_ of it. It’s out now, you know. So next time, I’ll tell you. _Warn_ you. Of course, I will. You do believe me, don’t you?”

Zira bit his lip. “I... I _want_ to.”

Crowley’s defensive heart hurt. _Foolish, unfair, anger._ “That’s... that’s fair,” he said half-believing it. “I’ll.. I’ll get dessert. With icecream. Homemade icecream. I’m so bored being stuck here evenings, I’m making icecream. And bread.I have a bloody sourdough starter! It’s still young though, not really yielding complex flavours...”

“Kids these days!” Zira replied with a small smile. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Disordered eating, purging, description of injury

Things were _easier_ unclothed, in the dark, as things sometimes are, although, not _easy_.

Zira ran his thumb over Crowley’s now too-protuberant ribs and was unable not to cry, and Crowley’s tongue worried Zira’s away from missing teeth when they kissed.

But, despite this, their bodies still knew how they fit together. Still quickened heartbeats at rediscovered scents. Still flushed at remembered touch.  


Still ached and ebbed and begged. 

Then Crowley lost himself, at the moment of climax, and howled with animal grief.

Terrified, Zira lost his train of thought entirely, letting go of Crowley at once, but then hugging him fiercely when Crowley scrambled for him in the dark.

Heavy, shaky breaths filled the darkened room. The salt of tears, sweat and sex. Soothing, crushing embrace. Low, agonized moans. Frantic, consoling whispers.

_I’m sorry, sorry, sorry..._

Crowley’s fingernails pressed into Zira’s flesh. Somewhere, Crowley felt a vague relief he had bitten them down, to the quick, because he wasn’t going to bring himself to let go.

_No my dear, please! I love you, love you..._

Undammed grief.

Undimmed love.

Fingernails and wiry forearms. 

Strong biceps and gentle kisses on his temple.

_I can’t... I can’t..._

Zira’s lips somehow still tasted of apple and cinnamon.

_I love you... hush now... I’m here._

Crowley stilled first, but Zira slept first, falling into exhausted, pink cheeked slumber.

Crowley stood up then, made his way to the bathroom, and vomited the little he’d been compelled to eat.

It was no longer difficult to do, his body expected it.

* * *

Crowley was watching when Zira woke.  


Morning suited Zira, Crowley decided, despite the pain lines collecting around his forehead and eyes. He had a way of somehow wrapping himself in its golden light.

“You’re here,” Zira murmured with a smile, reaching for Crowley. Soft fingertips on cheekbones, then tracing meridian lines through his hair. And then, “I don’t think I’ve slept so well in months.”

“Doesn’t sound right,” Crowley murmured, bending into the caress, like a cat, like a sapling in the wind. “Your mattress is much better than mine.”

“Your mattress is, admittedly, _not great_. And yet, I stand by my statement,” purred Zira“Must be something else.”

Crowley smiled, hoping the strange pain in his heart didn’t show on his face. If it did, Zira didn’t react, he was instead fussing with putting his leg on. 

“Bit swollen today, although it’s perhaps no surprise, after yesterday. Would have slept in a shrinker if I’d had one with me...”

“Should we keep one here?” Crowley asked cautiously. 

“Might have to, unless the building gets a surprise lift installed,” Zira replied, mildly. “I think I’m going to live to regret not rinsing this liner out last night...but... could be worse! At least, I’ve managed to get it on, meaning I can make it to the lav without undignified hopping!”

“I still don’t know any of this stuff,” Crowley replied miserably. “I never even bothered to learn. You’re so... so Zira. And I never even bothered to learn.”

“Crowley, my dear, it’s alright... _quite_ alright. It’s something of a learning curve, and it’s my ship to run, so to speak.”

Crowley couldn’t quite answer.

Zira frowned. “My dear, you seem very _distressed_ , still. Did... I handle last night poorly? If I did, you must tell me, there’s to be no sparing my feelings.”

“No...,” Crowley rasped. “You were so lovely. Of course you were. Lovely Zira being so... Zira. So _understanding_ and _lovely_ and...”

... _and then, there’s ME._

  
  
“... and, I’m sorry that you had to deal with that, Zira. Me, out of control like that. I’m sorry.”

  
  


Zira’s eyes widened. “Oh Crowley! What on earth has lead you to think that you need to apologise for a panic attack? Because you _certainly_ don’t!”

  
  


Crowley blinked. “Panic attack? I don’t have _panic attacks_.”

  
  


Zira’s face did... a thing.“Oh, my mistake, I do apologise for assuming. But, either way, you’ve certainly nothing to be _sorry_ for.”

  
  


The silence spread between them.

  
  


“I’ll make you breakfast.” Crowley said, at last. “What would you like?”

  
  


Zira smiled. “Please don’t put yourself out. You made that astonishing meal for me, last night, and I pretty much invited myself to breakfast, so... what were you planning to have yourself?”

_Nothing_ , thought Crowley’s brain.

“Toast,” said Crowley.

“Toast would be wonderful!”

Cooking the previous day... all the smells and tasting... holding food in his stomach... even small amounts... even for a short time... the beast of Crowley’s hunger had reawakened.

His stomach cramped hard, almost doubling him over as the toasting bread began to release an aroma.

_Good!_ whispered Crowley’s brain.

  
  


He made Zira a plate, sprinkled crumbs on another, smeared it with the honey-laden butter knife, and set both on the table.

  
  


“Ate mine already,” he said as Zira walked in. “Rude. Sorry.”

  
  


“Fiddlesticks,” Zira replied, smiling happily at the empty plate. “You barely ate last night, _of course_ you were hungry.” He kissed Crowley’s forehead, before settling down for his toast. “I can’t believe that you talked down this sourdough! It’s splendid!”

Crowley smiled. “I love you too.”

Zira swallowed. “I’m sorry?”

“Last night, when I was... when I was _upset_ , you said you loved me. I... I love you, too.”

“I _do_ love you, ” Zira replied, slowly, fussing with his toast. “I can’t quite remember _saying_ it, I’m sorry. But, _of course_ , I would say something so, so quickly and with such ghastly timing! So very me! But, it’s quite true. You mustn’t feel pressured to say it back, just because I raced ahead...”  
  


“I _mean it_ , Zira.”

  
  


Zira looked so sweetly baffled, that Crowley nearly cried again. “I... _gosh_. You do?”

“I do,” Crowley insisted, with as much pre-coffee fervor as he could summon. “I know we are messed up... That _I_ messed us up...”  
  


“It wasn’t _just_ you...”

“Of course it was...”

“I should have given you a chance to explain what...”

  
  


“We’ll need a bloody _talking-stick_ , at this rate, the way we interrupt each other!”

  
  


“I’m _am_ sorry, dear. Please, go ahead,” Zira replied, chastened.

  
  


“I... I love you, was my point. And... I’m going to move, after July. When I can. I’m adding moving expenses to the list of things to save for. I don’t want to live somewhere that’s so hard for you. But... I can’t change address, until then. But.. I would... if I could. And I will, when I can. I’ll find something better. Closer to a station and closer to the ground.”

“That’s lovely, my dear, but this is your home. You needn’t spurn it so quickly. Not when it must be such a relief to be here, instead of... instead of _away_. And, while I doubt I’ll be inclined to tackle those stairs again, after July, at least for a while, it... it’s not _all_ bad. I don’t want you to think... It has a certain _romance_ to it? Doesn’t it? Being trapped, high up in a tower together...or is that a bit silly?”

“It’s both adorable and _silly_ ,” Crowley decreed. 

Zira smiled, delighted. “Would you like this last piece of toast, dear? I’m still full as an egg from last night!”

Crowley couldn’t bear to risk the mood, so he snatched up the toast and choked it down, before he could think about it. 

It felt like blood-clots and loose teeth in his mouth. _Tasted_ like them. 

Crowley forced himself to smile.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: Discussion of disordered, passing reference to chronic pain, discussion of arrests

In retrospect, going to the rally had been a _very bad idea._

  
But, it hadn’t _seemed_ like a bad idea, at the time. It had seemed like normalcy, like reclaiming a part of himself. Beez and the others... a worthy cause... and _fucking daylight hours_. A way back into his old life.  


As grateful as he was for his job, and, much as he loved his evenings with Zira- in person, if Zira was having a good day, pain wise; over the phone, if he wasn’t- something was _missing_. There was something still to find. Something he could still do, something he could still contribute. An anchor, foothold. Something _good_.

Perhaps, then, he’d feel _better_. The fog that had settled over his senses would clear, the world would return to its normal intensity. Perhaps, _then,_ he could manage this whole... _food business_.

So, it _seemed_ like a good idea.

But then, the first arrests happened.  


A group of protesters, angry, shouting at police, pointing fingers, standing very close. The police watching, closely. Waiting for things to turn.  
  


Waiting for the grey.

Maybe, someone spat on purpose. Maybe, they expectorated _unintentionally, in_ their rage. It was never clear. But the arrests began then.

It was not like Crowley, to stand back, and let such things _happen_. Not like him to spectate, to stand apart, to let others hold the front like, to not join the fray.

But something was wrong. With him. He felt hot, dizzy, and weak. Sick to his stomach. Tingling in his skin. Disconnected and underwater.  


His legs ached and his chest burned. He needed more air than there was.  


The crowd surged, and jostled him, and he did not trust his feet beneath him. Could imagine falling and being trampled... so _easily_. Could feel a shoe grinding his neck. Imagine a bright, sharp pop.  


He looked for Beez, and found them in the human-wall forming between the police and the more vulnerable protesters. The sad-eyed old ladies; the parents holding chubby toddler hands; the men with babies in rainbow slings strapped to their chests.  


Crowley shouted out to Beez, tried to explain, and they nodded like they’d heard him.

  
  
  


They would say, later, they hadn’t.

Crowley staggered away, in any-direction _away_ , some part of him seeking the soft, verdant shade of the Finsbury Circus trees. Then, with his head on the dappled ground, close enough that he smelled moist soil, there was finally _air_.

There was comfort there, some intangible embrace from the earth, and Crowley fell to it, greedily, desperately. The shouts, the outraged roaring chaos, and the thudding, head-pounding aches of his body, were soothed by a slight chill.

He could breathe again, and so, exhausted, that was what he did for a time.

For a _while_.

  
  


Perhaps he slipped into sleep.  
  


_Too long_.  
  


Because suddenly, it was 6:12, 48 minutes from his curfew, and Beez was nowhere in sight.

  
  


He blinked at the clock numbers on the phone, numbness gathering.

  
  


Then he texted.

  
  


**Where are you?**

  
  


**_Left already. Where are you?_ **

  
  


**I need to get home!**

  
  


**_Take an Uber or something_ **

And, within seconds,it was a strange sort of emergency.  


He didn’t have the money for Uber, or a cab, and certainly did not have time to beg it from strangers. 

Crowley’s brain chuckled at him. _You ran away from coppers...in order to go back to prison, for falling asleep under a tree.  
  
_

_How’s that for a laugh, Crowley, old stick? How about you for a joke?_

His stomach fell in a dull thud.

  
  


It’s just once, he thought anxiously. I can call in advance... maybe it will be alright...

Zira had programmed the curfew hotline into his phone for him. Crowley called.

He was placed in a queue.

_Speaking of Zira, you promised you’d warn him, before anything bad happened. Now look at you...Look how fast you failed!_

Crowley placed the hotline call on speaker, and fired off a quick text to Zira.

  
Explaining, apologising... maybe it would be enough...

The sun was looking lower. The shadows seemed to grow before his eyes.He felt frantic and dull at once.

Maybe he’d get a pass, maybe. Just this once. If this call center would EVER pick up...! Maybe...

Crowley was startled by the beep on an oncoming call.  


He glanced at his phone quickly... it was going to be Zira and he was going to have to ignore him. Send him to voicemail. Hope that he understood. 

It was Newt.

_What if something’s happened? What if something’s happened to him, and this that call. But, YOU are going back to prison because you fell asleep under a tree. What if he’s hurt, and..._

“Hello, Newt?” Crowley switched calls.

“ _Get on the tube, get off at East Ham and I’ll meet you there and drive you the rest of the way_.”

“Sorry, what?”

“ _I can’t get into the city and get you back to yours before seven, but, if you make the next train and meet me at East Ham station, I think we can do it_.”

“But... okay... _what_?”

“ _Just get on the bloody train, Crowley!”_

Crowley froze for a moment, but then ran for the Liverpool Street, holding his phone, the hotline call music again in his ear.

_You’re a prat running through the city, with a cell phone to you ear. How did this happen?!_

He made the train. Did the math in his head. 20minutes... maybe 25. 

_Maybe_.

Suddenly, there was nothing to do, but watch the stations tick by, and listen to hold music.

  
  


_Stepney Green, Mile End, Bow Road..._

A little kid in a stained, white t-shirt was playing with a matchbox car. The car was dropped, a wheel fell off and skidded over to Crowley.

Crowley handed it back, the kid took it skittishly, and tried to mash the wheel back on, with stubby, shaky fingers.

Crowley held his hand out for the car, meaning to help fix it, but the kid’s eyes welled, the car was clutched to the grubby t-shirt. 

Crowley lowered his hand.

_West Ham_

_Plaistow_

He wondered idly if Newt would _even be_ at East Ham.

Crowley hadn’t really talked to Newt for months, not since their argument on Zira’s front path.

“ _I don’t forgive you_ ,” he’d said.

It turned out that Newt’s car was the only car stupider than Beez’s. And it was, indeed, parked illegally outside of East Ham station.

Newt pulled away immediately after Crowley got in the car.

“Thank you,” Crowley said softly.

Newt shrugged. “Doing this for Zira, obviously, not for you.” 

Crowley nodded. Hesitated. “Did you come far out of your way?”

“You were in luck, I was almost at Barking. I rescheduled a very sweet old lady’s very much needed appointment for this.”

“Thank you...”

“Once again, doing it for Zira,” Newt sighed.

“Thank you for caring so much about Zira, then,” Crowley replied.

  
  


Newt hummed non-commitally, visibly hesitated and then began to speak. “Since I’ve got you here, Ana has a friend, with a gallery. An art gallery. I wanted to ask you, if you would consider creating an installation for their foyer, rather than vandalizing another building, and going back to prison. Because if you would consider it, such an installation can very likely be arranged.”

Crowley blinked. “I... but... that’s _hardly the same thing_... what would it say about me, as an artist or as an activist, if I turned conventional _now_?”

“It _might_ say that you care about your boyfriend’s feelings, and don’t want to go back to prison. I do appreciate the irony of asking you _now_ , by the way. _Clearly_ staying out of prison isn’t too much of a priority, as evidenced by our current predicament, but...”

Crowley shook his head. “This was an _accident_... I... I fell asleep in a park.”

“You fell asleep?”

“I’ve been tired lately...”

Newt clicked his tongue. “Because you aren’t eating.”

“Who said that?”

“ _I_ say that!” Newt replied. “You look _cachectic_. So, either you are ignoring catastrophic, unexplained weight loss, probably from a tumour, or, you aren’t eating. I took a punt.”

Crowley looked away. “I... I _can’t_ eat lately. Nothing tastes right. I’ll be starving hungry, but the second I put something in my mouth, I...”  
  


Newt whistled. “Yeah. I see. Clearly, I’m going to have to put some animus aside here, because you are _not okay_. Crowley, I’m going to be straight with you. You are having a mental health crisis. You might not think you are, but if so, that’s a symptom. I’m not trying tomess with you. I have no horse in this race, besides Zira’s happiness, and that is not served by tricking you into unnecessary therapy. So... I’m going to get Ana to ring around to her colleagues, and find someone who will take you on quickly and cheaply. And I’ll text you the number.”

Crowley chest tightened, his teeth starting to grind, as if of their own accord. “What? I skip a few meals, and the middle-class favour-network leaps into action? I can suddenly access cheap, top-class mental healthcare, with one phone call, because _YOU_ say so?! It’s like I’m through the looking-glass...”

Newt muttered an obscenity under his breath. “Why do you have to be so DIFFICULT, all the time?”

  
  


“Middle-class plonkers,” Crowley sighed. “Can you really never understand why we don’t want your charity? Do you think we have no pride? Do you think, because I grew up how I grew up, I’ll be immediately willing to exploit Zira’s money and connections? Do you think I was born corrupt? Is poverty original sin?”

“Who the hell do you think you are talking to Crowley?” Newt replied. “Look at my _car_! I’m a physio, who makes house calls to little old ladies in Barking. Do you really think I’m paying Zira market rent, for a house-share in Parson’s Green? Do you think I was doing that when I was _studying_?”

“Why _do_ you have a client all the way over in Barking, anyway?”

Newt clicked his tongue. “She moved to be closer to her daughter, but then, the daughter went back to the abusive husband, and... do you actually _care_ about any of this? My point is, that I wasn’t born middle-class. That Zira got me out of a bad situation, and helped me for years, and tried to make me feel like I was doing HIM the favour, the whole time. So, there’s not much I wouldn’t do for him, and what he needs now, is you, apparently. Because you allegedly smell of cinnamon. So, just _art_ in a bloody _art gallery_ , would you? It’s exposed brick, and serves lavosh with vegan cheese-platters. You’d love it.”

“I...”

“This is you, isn’t it?” Newt interrupted, pulling the car up, “You’ve got seven minutes. You should make it, unless Zira isn’t joking, and there really are fifty thousand steps.”

“There are 84.... 84 steps.” 

“Then, you’re golden.”

Crowley paused for a fraction of a second. “Thank you, Newt.”

Newt shrugged. “If you mean it, call the number I send you, and take up the gallery offer. Otherwise, take your thanks, and shove it.”

* * *

Zira watched his phone.

Newt had texted a few minutes ago. To let him know they got to Crowley’s place on time.

But,  there was nothing from Crowley...

7:03...

Zira wavered over sending a text.

  
He wondered what would happen if Crowley had lost his front-door key.

  
  


What if Crowley was frantically pressed against his own front door, trying to be in range of the stupid curfew unit box? Perhaps, he could hear that horrible box ringing, on the other side of the door, demanding to be answered, and...

Zira snatched up his phone and sent a text.

**My dear? Are you all right?**

7:04....

7:05....

Reply dots! There were dots!

Then, there were no dots. 

7:06...

**_I’m fine Angel. Just sitting next to the stupid box and waiting for it to ring. It shouldn’t because I was on time. But I just have a bad feeling so I’m sitting_ **

Zira exhaled.

Another message arrived.

**_I’d probably be able to hear it from the other room. But I have to answer it, if it rings. So I’m sitting here.I’d love a shower tho_ **

“My poor Crowley,” Zira murmured to himself. He suddenly missed him, _very much_.

**You were home on time, my dear.All is well. I’m sure you may have a shower if you wish!**

Dots.

No Dots.

Dots.

**_I’ll just give it a bit longer, then I will. call you after. I miss you._ **

Zira fought off an impulse to hug the phone. 

**I miss you too! I was just thinking that! I can call you, while you wait? Keep you company? And, I do apologise for setting Newt on you, my dear. I did consider an Uber instead, but I knew Newt would pull out the stops! (However, also knew he would be a bit snarky...)**

Dots.

**_newt loves you, Angel! I love that he loves you. that you have friends like that and I’m truly grateful to newt he was great honestly_ **

Zira smiled. **Not snarky?**

  
  


_**wouldn’t go that far...!** _

Zira considered. Crowley hadn’t _said_ to call, but he hadn’t said _not to,_ either...

Zira’s index finger hovered over the call button. The last thing he wanted to do was stress Crowley, but what if he was expecting a call now that Zira had mentioned it?

Zira pressed the call button, almost impulsively.

Crowley’s phone must have been on his hands, and so,  when the call rang for a fourth time, Zira’s heart tumbled a little, but, straight after the sixth ring, Crowley answered.

“ _Hey Angel_...”

Crowley’s voice, eventhose first few words drove Zira up, reaching for his keys.

The voice on the phone sounded strangled. Tight and cracking.  


Zira made sure his own voice was soft. “Hello, my dear. Are you all right? You sound... like you’ve had a very tough afternoon.”

Crowley sniffed audibly. “ _S’fine_.”

  
  


Zira’s heart squeezed unpleasantly.  “I... would you mind if I came over, Crowley? I know, I said I wasn’t up for it today, but I... I feel much better, now. So... is the invitation still open?”

There was silence down the line. Zira quickly checked his habitual Crowley duffle for essentials. “Crowley....? Would it?”

“ _I....Yes, please_.”  
  


Zira hurried out the door.

  
  


It took Zira ninety minutes to make it to the flat, and let himself in.

He found Crowley, still sitting on the floor by the home detention monitoring box, his eyes red, his face pale, and his long legs folded awkwardly beneath him.

“Hello, my dear,” Zira greeted him, gently. “I see you haven’t managed your shower yet. How about you go now, and I’ll listen, in case the box wants to call, and I’ll make us something to eat? Would... would that help?” 

Crowley nodded, but didn’t move.

Zira was reluctant to get down on the floor. He knew he’d make a production of getting off it again. But, he did it anyway, and drew Crowley into a hug, trying not to notice his unsettling thinness...how he shuddered.

“I can’t go back...” Crowley murmured.

“And you shall not,” Zira replied firmly. “I will not permit any such injustice. You were here on time.”

Crowley shook his head against Zira’s chest. “I freaked out at the march today. And I can’t do my art, because I can’t _go back_ to that place. I thought I was willing to go to prison for my beliefs. I thought I was ready. _Brave_. But Zira... that place. I think I lost my mind in that place... lost myself.”

“No, no, my dear,” Zira whispered. “You are still my Crowley. I’d know you anywhere. We will sort all this out. I promise, I promise.”

Crowley sighed. “Zira... I... I haven’t eaten...”

“And, as I said, I’ll make you dinner. Or die trying. Which is not beyond the realms of possibility. I’m not a great cook, I must admit...”

Crowley shook his head. “No... I mean... I was going to say... I haven’t eaten _today_. At all.”

Zira’s heart ached, and his head ached, his back throbbed, as did both knees, and a bright, burning fireball of pain emanated from a leg that wasn’t even there.

But, just for now, he would not permit himself to show it.“Then, I’ll make a lovely, simple, digestible dinner, while you shower, and get comfortable. It’s going to be all right, Crowley. We _will_ sort this all out.”

Crowley moaned softly, pressed his head gently against Zira’s chest and seemed to sink deeper into Zira’s embrace.

Zira kissed his temple. “We will sort it all out,” he repeated. “Everything will be all right.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: References to chronic pain, trauma and eating disorders.

Zira woke, in a great deal of pain, in Crowley’s bed, without Crowley.

The panic set in before he was fully awake but he forced himself to calm down, counting his breaths.  


It was before 7am, so Crowley _had_ to still be here. _Logically_.

  
  
_Everything is fine. Everything is going to be just fine._

The last thing Zira wanted to do was get up. Even when _sitting_ up, a painful back spasm grasped him and clung on to his shoulders.  It was going to be a _bad_ pain day. And there was no point being annoyed by it. For Zira, pain was like weather. There was always _some_ , and it was sometimes _bad,_ and it’s pointless to shake your fist at storm clouds.

After the rigmarole of getting up, he forced himself to go to the lavatory before seeking out Crowley.

_He’s here. Of course he is. And if he’s not, what are you going to DO anyway? Chase him? Run down all those stairs._ _Perhaps you could surf down on Crowley’s mattress?_

Zira washed his hands loudly. Walked loudly.  


He wanted to give Crowley, whereever he was...

( _in the flat! He MUST be in the flat!_ )

...fair warning that he was awake. Up and about. Zira was, after all, still a _houseguest_.

The mystery was solved quickly. At a glance. Crowley, curled up asleep on the floor, by the bloody, home-detention box. His head on a throw pillow, a paint stained drop cloth, once a blanket, now tangled around his legs.

As Crowley wasn’t awake, Zira permitted himself a few tears.  
  


Then, he began to make breakfast.

Crowley awakened as Zira fried tomato slices following a tomato frying video tutorial on his phone. They had those for _everything_ these days.

He woke near silently, unfolding himself, and walked slowly over to Zira, his eyes large and clouded. He was vulnerable and barefoot. “Angel...”

“Good morning, Crowley, dear. How are you feeling?” 

Crowley swallowed. “Like I slept on the floor, instead of next to my beautiful boyfriend...”

The word ‘boyfriend’ made Zira’s heart do... _a thing_. Even after all this time.

“... I’m sorry, Zira. It’s... the home detection people work overnight. They called me at eleven, once, because I bumped into the box... you still have to answer, whatever time it is. If you don’t, you’re in breach of your conditions...”

“They called because you _bumped_ it?” Zira asked, incredulously.

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. You can’t move it. Or _touch_ it. You aren’t even supposed to _dust_ it.”

“You can’t _dust_ it?!”

Crowley shook his head. “Nope. Dusting it is forbidden. Literally says not to, in the brochure...”

Zira muttered under his breath. “For goodness sake! Let’s not discuss this further. I’ve had enough of discussing that box for one lifetime.”

Crowley smirked. “Says the gayest man in London!”

“Indeed I do!” Zira replied, his voice full of summoned cheerfulness. “Now, sit down, my dear, while I finish cooking. There will be tomatoes, toast, mushrooms, and eggs. And I see that face, my darling... I... I see that this is not easy for you. But, we will keep working at this, until something works. Something _will_ work, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Crowley sighed. “Well you can’t, can you ? Too many stairs.”

“I mean it,” Zira replied firmly. “Not going anywhere. Now, how would you feel about a sausage...?”

“Asks the gayest man in...”

“Oh, _would_ you stop?!”

* * *

Newt and Ana’s gallery friend styled herself as Madam Tracy and was wearing an inordinate number of colourful chiffon scarves. But to Crowley’s great surprise and secret delight, she did indeed seem to be genuinely familiar with his work.  
  


“Eastern Gate might have gone viral, duck, but personally, I loved the Eaton Terrace mural... that _bird_... those _eyes_... all that thrilling impasto. That was _you_ , wasn’t it?” she gushed happily, offering him a conspiratorial wink.  
  


Crowley played along, putting his finger on the side of his nose.

“So, the atrium would be yours, _I_ will retain editorial control of who shows in the main room, while your installation is present, but I doubt that there’s anyone who you would object to. Let me find the list...”

She wandered off, distractedly, and Newt sidled over. “So, what do you think? Your nose doesn’t look _quite_ as turned up, as it did outside...”

Crowley sighed and looked over the space. Honestly, it was _gorgeous_.He could already begin to see flashes of what he might do, phantom images here and there, streaks of colour. Maybe he could bring in panes of embossed found glass....  
  


_Sellout_.

  
He shook his head. “It’s a beautiful space,” he sighed. “But, it’s just not really _me_. I mean, I’ll take it, I want it... it’s better than... but it’s so _different_. It’s not me anymore. _I’m_ not me, anymore. I’m sure you all think I’m being a brat, but I don’t think any of you can really understand what it’s like to...”

Newt rolled his eyes. “Oh yes. How could Zira _possibly_ understand what it’s like to have life change radically, and having to discover a new way to do things, and new ways to be yourself... What experience could he _possibly have_ that compares to..?”  
  


“Okay! yes! Fine! That was a ridiculous thing to say. Clearly. Ignore me.”

“My point, Crowley, was that he understands more than you think,” Newt sighed. “And, don’t tell people to ignore you. You deserve more than that.”  
  


Crowley looked up. “Hang on... this is different. You are being _nice_ to me. Why are you being nice to me?”

Newt shrugged. “Because you came to look at the gallery? I... didn’t think you would. And, I was wrong. Thank you. Honestly. I don’t suppose I can push my luck, and ask if you called Fiona’s office?”

Crowley nodded. “I did, yeah. I have an appointment on Tuesday.”

Newt’s eyes widened. “Oh, excellent! You’ll really like her, I think. And, she’s had loads of experience with trauma and eating disorders...”

“I don’t have an _eating disorder,_ ” Crowley replied, blankly. “I _don’t_! No body-image issues at all, me. Apart from the teeth thing, mind. But otherwise... I’m a _stone cold fox_ , as our American friends might say. No eating disorder here!”

Newt sighed. “Just... try to keep an open mind, yeah? Not all eating disorders are about... And anyway, what is with that expression? To me, ‘stone cold fox’ conjures an image of... a dead fox... not so much with the sexy. So, from my point of view, at least...”

Crowley shrugged “Sadly for you, Newt, I don’t much care, if you find me sexy. My heart belongs to Zira.”

“I should hope so,” Newt replied, but then softened. “Actually, I think I might be starting to believe you again, about that part.”

Crowley sought Newt’s eyes.  
  


Newt smiled.

Tracy reappeared with the list, that Crowley perused politely.  


“No problem here, for me,” he said. “Would it be all right if I took a few photos of the space? Did a few sketches?”

Tracy looked delighted. “No problem at all, duck, in fact...”

She was interrupted by Crowley’s phone alarm, loudly signaling the hour.   
  


“Sorry. Sorry,” he hissed.

Tracy considered him carefully. “If there’s some medication or something you need to take. You can use the kitchenette for privacy? Or my office?”

Crowley shook his head. “It’s... err... set to go off every hour. Helps me keep track of the... passage of time.”

“How very _mindful_!” Tracey replied, politely.

Crowley fumbled to turn it off, aware Newt was watching him with sympathetic eyes.

* * *

“Every hour?” Zira sighed. “Oh, my poor Crowley! I should have stayed over there with him, shouldn’t I?”

Newt sighed audibly. “ _Zira, you CAN’T live there. It’s a high rise, in all but name, but there’s no lift. There are no handrails. The doors are too narrow for a wheelchair..._ ”

“Newt, I barely ever need...”

“ _There’s only a tub/shower combo, the carpet is lifting...”_

“He said he’d move, you know,” Zira interrupted. “For me. After the home detention is over. He _can’t_ do it now. It’s not permitted. It’s not _fair_ for you to...”

“ _I’m not holding it against him, Zira, but I don’t want you feeling guilty for needing your own home, and your own bed, and your own shower._ ”

Zira hummed unhappily. “Surely, a few days...”

“ _Except you are in agony, already, aren’t you? I can hear it in your voice_.”

  
  


“You are being dramatic, Newton. I’ll admit to being a little sore and worn out, but...”

“ _The first rule of care is self-care, Zira. You GET a few days off. Crowley has an appointment with Fiona. Everything will be okay..._ ”

Zira’s heart leapt. “He made an appointment?” 

“ _He did. Now, do something nice for yourself, and just be comfortable, okay? Think Ana and I might spend the night at her place. But, call me if you need anything... I will come back”_

Zira smiled. “Weren’t you JUST lecturing me about ‘nights off’ and ‘self care’?”

“ _Oh, that’s different,_ ” Newt replied. “ _I’m me!_ ”

Zira laughed as he said goodbye, collected his glasses and his cocoa and settled down in the living room with  _Reading Greek: Text and Vocabulary,_ occasionally scribbling himself a note in purple biro on a lined note pad. 

It was close to eleven when he was startled by the sound of breaking glass.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: discussion of injury, discussion of medical procedures, panic attack(s); mentions of illegal drugs,

The knocking started in a dream. A dream which fled from Crowley’s mind the moment he woke. All that remained was a sense of extreme unpleasantness, a sharp ache in his shoulder blades from sitting on the floor, and the _knocking_.  
  


_It’s them. The box rang but you didn’t wake up, and so now they’ve come here to investigate. Now you’ll have to convince them you’ve been here the whole time, that you haven’t tampered with the box, that you didn’t tamper with the tag, that you did charge the tag... did you charge the tag? Are you sure you did? It vibrates if you don’t but are you sure you would have felt it? What if the vibration didn’t wake you? Are they going to believe the vibration AND the ringing couldn’t wake you? Even if they do, won’t they just think you were on somethin_ g? And, _if they make you take a drug test, you think you’ll be alright because you are clean... but did you buy anything with poppyseeds? Did Zira? When did you last eat poppyseeds? and if you don’t answer the door they are going to..._

“Coming!” Crowley wheezed out, desperately. “I’m coming... please... hang on... I’m...”  
  


He pulled open the door.  


Newt.

Newt had a strange, hollow smile on his face.

“Hi Crowley, sorry to wake you. Let me in, yeah?”

Crowley took a step back, and Newt pushed in through the door, closed it quickly behind him, leaned against it, and took a few deep breaths.

_Newt is blocking the door._ He was tall, Crowley realised, and stronger than he appeared at first glance. And, he still didn’t like Crowley over much, and, he was blocking the exit, blocking Crowley’s door.

“You are blocking my door,” Crowley said stupidly. “What time is it? Why are you blocking my door?”

“To keep you on this side of it...” Newt blurted out.  
  


_He looked wrong_ , Crowley realised. _Something was wrong._

“.. to keep you on this side of it,” Newt repeated. “Because I have to tell you... except I’m not sure I should be here, at all. It seems _cruel_. Part of me thinks I should have knocked on your door at exactly 7:01... except, Ana said she would go to the hospital, and I should come here and tell you, and then keep you inside until 7:01, and Ana is usually right? Isn’t she?”

Crowley shook his head. “Newt, what are you...?”  
  


“Zira,” Newt interrupted. “He was _worried_ about you. I told him, about how you had your phone going off every hour, so your curfew wouldn’t sneak up on you. And he was _worried_ , and he wanted to go back to your place, stay with you for a few days. And, for the first time in his damn life he listened to me, but if he hadn’t... he wouldn’t have _been_ there...”

_Something’s wrong... something’s..._

“Newt? What...”  
  


“Someone broke in. They called me at Ana‘s. The police. They said that someone broke in, and that they were probably looking for drugs, and they asked me... wanted me to go there, and tell them what should be there. What was missing. But I had to come _here_ , because Ana went to the hospital. And that seems a bit messed up, doesn’t it? Like Ana should do this part? But Ana speaks doctor, you know? I speak it a _bit_ , but she’s better at it cause she _is_ a doctor. And doctors talk to other doctors... and...”

“Newt, what happened to Zira?”

“Someone broke in...”

“Newt!”

“I don’t know, Crowley,” Newt replied, his voice cracking. “I don’t know, except a neighbour noticed the broken glass, except Zira was put in an ambulance. Except Ana said she’d call when she knew something, and she hasn’t called. But I don’t actually know anything else...”

Crowley swallowed. “Move.”

“No,” Newt shook his head. “I’m sorry. No.”

“Newt! I need to go to that hospital!” Crowley growled. 

“Me too!” Newt replied, his voice cracking. “But we _can’t_. You have to stay here, and I have to stay with you.”

“Newt, get OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY, or, I swear, I’ll...”

“Crowley, I _can’t_!” Newt replied, sounding almost in tears. “I can’t... Ana is going to call. She will. And so, I can’t let you go... because I told Zira to stay home. And maybe I was looking out for him... I really hope I was... but, what if I said that because I was still mad at you? What if that’s why he was there? I... can’t fuck up anything else.”

Crowley glared. “I need to get to that hospital.”

“I know... and I’ll drive you myself,” Newt answered, softly. “At 7:01 in the morning.”

“But...”

“Ana will call, Crowley....”

“GET OUT OF MY WAY OR I’LL MAKE YOU GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Crowley found himself screaming.

Newt exhaled, shaking his head. “You need to stop yelling, before someone calls the police. Crowley, have you looked in the mirror lately? You can’t move me out of your way. I bet yelling those thirteen words was enough to make your head start to spin. Chances are, I can drop you on your arse without hurting you too badly, but don’t put either of us through it, yeah? Not tonight! Can we not just... can we call a truce? Just for tonight...”

Crowley sniffed. “Fourteen words. It was fucking _fourteen_. Learn to fucking... just....Call Ana.”

“Crowley, Ana said she’d call when...”

“I need to talk to her now!” Crowley replied, his fingernails raking his scalp. “Because frankly, mate? You are shit at this! I need to talk to someone else, before I lose my fucking mind.I don’t care if I just end up listening to her sitting in a hospital waiting room. That’s what I need, okay? You decided to come here, wake me up and tell me... tell me...tell me fucking _nothing_! And...just call Ana.”

Against all odds, Newt nodded slowly, pulled out his phone, and dialled. “Ahn ? What’s....”

He stopped talking, almost at once, listening to Ana’s tinny voice.

“Speaker...!” Crowley moaned.

Newt fumbled with the phone.

“... _see him, once they’ve done this CT._ ” Ana’s voice entered the room. “ _They were a little reluctant to talk to let me, despite all those forms we filled out, but once it became apparent neither Sandy nor Gabe were planning to come down here, they’ve been a bit more communicative...”_

Crowley tried to follow along, but his head was starting to buzz.

“An abdominal CT?” Newt was asking.

“ _No...cranial CT. They already want to do a laparotomy, based on the liver lac on ultrasound. But they wanted to check the head injury. He might just be concussed but...there’s concern about an intracranial haematoma, of some sort. The paramedics reported an episode, in the ambulance, and they think it was syncopal, but they weren’t certain it wasn’t a seizure, and...”_

Ana’s voice- her stupid, incomprehensible _words_ \- continued to fade behind the roaring in Crowley’s ears, and the increasing rasp of his own breathing. He tried to suck in more air, but found his jaw locked, unwilling to be forced open. “Newt...” he moaned.

Newt darted forward, grabbing Crowley under the arms, a moment before Crowley even realised he was falling.  


As he was lowered to the ground, pain seeped through his chest.

“Can’t breathe!” he moaned, against the clenched arches of his teeth, his voice, ghoulishly whistling through the tooth gaps. “Chest.”

“You’re having a panic attack,” Newt said, firmly. “It feels bad, but it can’t hurt you. Try to take slow, deep breaths.”

_I don’t have panic attacks!_ Crowley screamed in his head. 

Aloud, he moaned. “Can’t...”

He couldn’t unlock his jaw. Frantically, he drove his fists into the corners of his jaw, trying to prise it open. 

Perhaps not understanding, Newt tried to lower Crowley’s fists and a brief scuffle ensued.  


Newt won, and Crowley found himself beginning to cry. His nose started to block, his sinuses flooding. And he still couldn’t open his mouth.

_You are going to drown in your own snot._

  
  


He wheezed and hissed through his teeth.

_Good_. _You should._

“Breathe. Slowly.” Newt commanded, somewhere above Crowley’s head.

And he did. It worked. Somehow. Because Crowley didn’t die. His whole body ached. His jaw, his arms, his chest. But the air came back. _Somehow_.

“It’s alright,” Newt was saying. “You’re alright. Breathe. Just breathe.” His hand was pressed firmly into the small of Crowley’s back.

“Zira,” Crowley whispered.

“He’ll be alright too,” Newt insisted. “You’ll see. Just breathe for now. Until 7. Just breathe.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Medical scenes, ICU scenes, description of violence, description of injuries.

After waiting for the end of the curfew, and waiting in the infernal nightmare of London morning traffic, they didn’t arrive at the hospital until nearly 9am.

The horrific possibility of visiting hours did not even occur to Crowley until jogging through the doors.  


Crowley was 100% unwilling to crash tackle a nurse, and was also 100% unwilling to wait an additional minute to see Zira, and he had no way out of this conundrum apart from allowing his head to explode like an android presented with a logic problem on late night television.

Fortunately, Ana had apparently pled his case in advance, and Crowley got approximately ten seconds of relief from mind-numbing panic, before he realised that the signage they were following all had Intensive Care Unit written on it. 

“Intensive Care Unit?” Crowley asked Ana, who was standing outside the unit typing furiously into her phone.

Ana gave him a long hug before answering which Crowley found equally comforting and infuriating.

“He _has_ just had brain surgery, sweetheart...”

“ _Brain surgery_?!”

“Well, a craniotomy,” Ana replied, soothingly. “That’s not _really_ brain surgery. I shouldn’t have said _brain surgery_. More like... skull surgery.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, but _why_? I don’t understand. Why skull surgery?”

Ana hestitated. “Well he has a temporal bone fracture...”

“Which one is the temporal bone? “

“This one,” Ana sighed tapping the side of her head. 

“So a _skull fracture?_! And they had to fix that..?”

“Not exactly. There was bleeding underneath the fracture...”

“Bleeding _IN HIS BRAIN_?”

“More like bleeding _next_ to his brain...” Ana replied, in what Crowley supposed she imagined to be a soothing fashion.

Newt interrupted at this point. “Did anyone check facial nerve function on admission?”

Crowley frowned. “What does that..?”

“They tried, apparently, and what they saw looked...okay?” Ana answered Newt. “It’s a longitudinal fracture in the squamous region, and it looks to be otic capsule sparing...”

“Otic _what_...?” Crowley asked.

Newt was nodding hopefully at Ana. “So that lowers the risk of vestibular dysfunction, doesn’t it? And of sensorineural hearing loss?”

“It does, but there’s conductive loss to worry about, obviously... I’m considering pestering them for High Contrast Temporal Imagining later today, assuming he’s stable.”

Newt bit his lip. “And the laparotomy?”

  
  


“The liver bleeding was under control when they got in there, they were _expecting_ to do a splenectomy, but...”

“Smaller words!” Crowley interrupted, a little bit too loud. “ _Please_! Much! smaller! words!”

Ana sighed. “Okay. Sorry Crowley, you’re right. Zira has a fractured skull, fractured ribs and was bleeding into his abdomen and his skull. The liver is sort of fragile. Friable, we say. Easy to tear. The force of being... hit... or kicked, maybe?... ruptured it. _Tore_ it. The bleeding in both places has been stopped now. They are watching him closely in case either starts again, and they have him on antibiotics because an infection entering through the skull fracture would be bad news. Okay, so far?”

Crowley’s brain jittered. “Yes... I suppose. But... _why_? what happened?”

“Someone broke in, Crowley. For drugs?” Ana replied softly. “They... they _beat_ him. It’s going to take a... he’s going to be in hospital for a while.”

“I need to see him”

“Right now he’s ...confused, and in pain. They are trying to balance pain control with being able to monitor him neurologically... It’s _good_ news... he’s scoring well, the brain injury itself seems mild. But also... it’s rough. He looks... rough. He’s been asking for you, and he’s having trouble remembering why you couldn’t come earlier... just... try not to get upset, okay? The last thing he’d want is to make you feel bad but... he’s confused...you have to understand that...”

Crowley shook his head. “But no one would hurt Zira. Why would anyone hurt Zira? I... _why_ would anyone _hurt_ my Zira?”  
  


Ana sighed. “Let’s get you in there, yeah?”

There was rigmarole involved. Gowns, gloves, paper shower caps for his shoes, and supervised hand-washing. A nurse at the desk clocked Crowley’s missing teeth, and narrowed her eyes, but nothing was said.

The ICU was bright and loud. A nurse, a different one, by Zira’s bed, smiled at him. 

Zira’s face was drawn with pain lines, and the skin around his left eye was purple.

“He has a black eye!” Crowley stammered, toward Ana almost accusatorily.

“No love,” the nurse interrupted softly. “That’s bleeding from the skull fracture. We call it ‘panda-eye’, sometimes. He wasn’t hit there. You’ll see a bruise behind his poor ear too.”

Crowley smiled at her, oddly relieved, as if this infinitesimal reprieve meant anything at all.

“Crowley...?” Zira’s voice. A little mush-mouthed and confused.

Crowley swallowed and moved forward. “Hey Angel. Here I am...”

“You weren’t _here,_ and it’s too _bright,_ and... spinny and my ear feels weird, and I don’t _like_ it.”

“It is bright, love I know,” the nurse replied, gently. “We need it bright to take care of you, but I know it’s uncomfortable, and I’m sorry.” 

“S’okay, my dear,” Zira murmured. “I’m sure you do as you do, for the best. It’s just, my head _hurts_ so. But Crowley is here now. Crowley came. It must be morning, because Ana promised.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Crowley,” the nurse replied, and then introduced herself, with a name that Crowley accidentally forgot, instantly. “You’ve been much anticipated.”

“Oh, Angel,” Crowley murmured. “I came as soon as I could. I’m so sorry. I wanted...”

Zira waved a hand weakly. “I know, I know, stupid, _mean_ , boxes. I hate.. and I wish, because it _hurt_ and I wanted you and... but not _night_. Because, you have to be _safe_. Not at night. And I can’t _tell_. So you can be _safe_. And my head hurts. It _all_ hurts honestly, but I only care about my head. If the head would stop I wouldn’t mind the rest.”

“Oh, he remembered the curfew this time, “ Ana whispered. “That’s good! I think that’s good!”

“I think I’ve been trying Ana’s patience,” Zira sighed. “There’s been talk of personality changes. But, I thought I was still me.”

“I think so too, Angel,” Crowley whispered. “I’d know you anywhere. But your poor head is sore. It’s not your fault if you’re grouchy, is it? You aren’t exactly a bear with a sore head, but still...”

Zira blinked.“Does my hair look stupid? I think they might have shaved some.”

Crowley smiled. “No idea. All covered in bandages.”

“Look, he’s bantering!” Ana said to the nurse. “That’s got to be a GCS of 15. Right? If there’s bantering?”

“Bantering _isn’t_ one of the criteria, Dr Device,” the nurse replied patiently. “I know it’s hard, but do try to stay in the friends and family lane?”

Ana nodded. “I’ve honestly never felt the distinction between a brain doctor and a mind doctor as much in my life as the last twelve hours. Neuro rotation was a lifetime ago... and...”

“And you haven’t slept in well over 24 hours, yes?” the nurse scolded, gently.

“Sleep is for the weak,” Ana grumbled.

Zira nodded. “Indeed, sleep _is_ for the weak, and, I don’t mind if I do! I’m knackered...”

“See, see?” Ana exclaimed. “Banter!”

“... oh, but _Crowley_. If I sleep, will you still be here?”

“I’ll stay as long as I can Angel,” Crowley promised miserably.

“Please wake me before you go?” Zira begged.

Crowley promised, although it was a flat out lie. He didn’t think he could ever bring himself to deliberately wake Zira into this much pain. 

The nurse smiled. “Don’t worry, lovelies! I have to wake poor Zira here up constantly, to shine more light in his eyes and to get him to squeeze my hand and tell me his name.Very important nurse business.”

“I think he’s asleep already,” Crowley replied.

“That’s okay, love,” the nurse replied. “He’ll need loads of sleep. If you have any questions, well I’m not going anywhere. The ‘I‘ is for ‘intensive’ for a reason. I’m afraid I can’t give you much privacy. “

“You’d better not!” Crowley replied. “There are eleventy million machines in here, and I understand exactly none, so, I would _very much prefer_ you stay right here.”

“It’s alright, love, there are some tissues behind you on the wall.”

At her words, Crowley realised he was crying. Ana started rubbing his back. Crowley had forgotten she was there again, until she did.

“So, do you have any questions, love?”

Crowley sighed “Why would anybody hurt my Zira?”

“I don’t know love,” the nurse replied. And then added. “It isn’t fair.”

Ana helped Crowley into a chair and sat down beside him.

“Do you think that nurse is good?” Crowley whispered. “She seems good? I think?”

“I expect Zira is a light day for her,” Ana sighed. “Neuro ICU nurse. Cause he’s doing well GCS 15. It _has_ to be 15. I’m looking it up on my phone.”

Crowley supposed ‘15’ was good, from context, but decided not to ask.

He carefully took Zira’s hand, torn between cataloguing the visible injuries, and letting his eyes slide off them.

“I do think I liked the nurse,” he decided. “But can you look up that panda-eye thing? Cause that sounded like bullshit.”

“It’s got to be 15,” Ana muttered. “14 at worst.”

Crowley remembered Newt, but was unwilling to even contemplate giving up his chair. Instead, he squeezed Zira’s hand and imagined Zira squeezing back.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Discussion of injuries, descriptions of violence and threats of violence, discussion of disordered eating, brief reference to child abuse, discussion of illegal drug use and consequences thereof, victim blaming, misgendering.

“I don’t know how you can eat _that_...” Crowley couldn’t keep himself from muttering.

Zira was ploughing away at a dismal hospital hot lunch. He was using the fork with his left hand, which was not unusual for him. But, whenever he needed to use his knife on the rubbery schnitzel, or the overbroiled carrots, he would use his left hand for that as well, which _was_ unusual.

Crowley wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew Newt made a face every time it happened, so chances were... something _not good_. 

“I’m modeling a healthy relationship with food for you,” Zira replied, somewhat primly.

“Bollocks,” Crowley muttered. “There’s nothing about eating that slop that indicates a healthy relationship with food. And where did you get that anyway? ‘ _Healthy relationship with food_ ’? Is that from that bloody pamphlet my shrink gave me to give you?”

“It was, in fact,” Zira replied. “Apparently there is distressingly little I can do to support you, but that is one of the things.”

Crowley sighed. “I knew I shouldn’t have left that here. You aren’t supposed to be reading yet...”

“It’s a single page pamphlet,” Zira muttered. “It’s not as if I was attempting to ready _Ulysses_. And I’m so _bored_. What am I supposed to _do_ all day?”

Crowley sighed, guiltily. “Actually, on that topic. I heard back from the prison. They are refusing to alter my working obligations. I explained it was an emergency, and that I couldn’t keep the working hours, and the curfew, and visit you enough but...”

“But they didn’t care,” Zira sighed.

Actually, not only had they not cared, but Crowley’s Responsible Officer had all but accused Crowley of taking advantage of Zira, _a vulnerable community_ _member._ Of taking advantage to the point of near criminality.

Crowley would rather rip out his own fingernails than tell Zira that, however.

“I’m so _sorry_ , Angel. I know you prefer to treat this whole parole thing like an unfortunate Act of God, rather than something _I_ did to us, but I _did_ do this to us. And, it’s killing me. It was killing me when it was just you climbing stairs, and now... now you are so _hurt_ , and I can barely _be_ here...”

  
  


Zira sighed. “My dear... my dear. I love you, just as you are, including your convictions, and so, I must abide the consequences of those convictions, I suppose. No pun intended, dear. Now, beyond that, I have no wish to discuss your...ankle hardware... further, except to say this. I would like you to consider moving in with me, once your house arrest is over. You and Newt are getting on better, and I’m so sick of being away from you... I realise it’s quite a commute to the nursery, but, from September we can catch the train together as far as the city... assuming University is still possible, that is...”

“You are _GOING_ to University, Angel,” Crowley interrupted firmly. “I don’t care if I have to piggy back you to class every day, sit beside you and take notes, transcribe all your essays, and picket their Disability Office until they give you what you need. It’s _happening_.”

Zira almost smiled. “I think, at that point, it would be _you_ going to university. Which is absolutely something you should do, one day, if you want. Anyway... back to moving in with me. It’s okay to say no, to not be ready, and, you don’t have to give me an answer right away... but you said you wanted to move anyway... and you’d save a little bit of money on rent...”

“And you wouldn’t be home alone,” Crowley whispered softly.

Zira shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe we could get a dog, too. Anyway. Just think about it. If you want to. Oh... and that police officer that was here earlier. She was very nice to _me_ , but I know it couldn’t have been easy for _you_ to talk to her... must have brought up memories... anyway. I hope she wasn’t rude to you.”

Crowley hestitated. She actually _had_ been a little rude to him. She’d made it perfectly plain that she believed Zira was lying about not knowing who attacked him. And the shady, dentally-challenged, criminal boyfriend was her number one suspect. Crowley had only enjoyed having an iron-clad alibi _a little bit_. Especially when, her suspicions had immediately shifted to Newt, of all people.

_The place wasn’t ransacked_ , she’d declared, narrow-eyed. _Whoever it was knew just where to look for those drugs..._

“Angel,” Crowley began cautiously. “I know it’s the last thing you want to talk about. But can you tell me what happened? One more time.”

“Oh honestly!” Zira muttered. “Everyone _else_ in here is allowed to have amnesia around their head injury without getting the third degree. As I told you... I was reading, I heard glass break. I thought it was the kids that play cricket in the street sometimes. You know? From a few doors down. Their mother is an ambassador... but, it was so late at night... and then... and then _nothing_. Nothing else.”  
  


_He’s lying._

  
  


Crowley nodded and smiled. “Okay, Angel. That’s alright. I... I won’t keep bringing it up. I promise. And, I don’t have to think about it. Moving in, I mean. I’d love to, if you’ll have me. My home arrest ends at midnight July 25th. The fairy godmother comes to my flat, late in the evening, and removes my tags. Then, on the stroke of midnight, I turn from a pumpkin back into a real boy. And you know all I want to do? Jump in a taxi, at one minute past midnight,go straight to your place, and crawl into your bed. And just.... be there when you wake up.”

Zira smiled. “Oh _Crowley_ , that’s... I’ll make sure I get you a key. I just hope I don’t ruin things by still being in _here_.”

“You don’t ruin things, Angel. You won’t still be here. You are doing great. And anyway, I heard the nurses talking, and they are all sick of you, and want you out of here.”

“And I don’t blame the poor things one bit!” Zira said. “I swear, I don’t mean to be crotchety, but in the afternoons, I’m a _terror_. And they are all so nice about it, too.”

“I have never heard such nonsense!” Crowley scolded.

“You _just said_ they were plotting my exit!”

“They all adore you, and you know it. I can’t set foot on this ward without being told how lucky I am, and being asked if you have any brothers.”

Zira pursed his lips. “If only they knew.”

“Gabe and Sandy can go jump in a lake.”

“Why would you wish that on on poor aquatic ecosystems?”

Crowley chuckled. “Seriously though, Angel. I’ll be your family. I can’t imagine a greater privilege. You, me, and that dog I’m not going to let you go back on. And, we won’t let Gabe and Sandy so much as darken our doorstep. Now... I saw that yawn. So, nap time.”

Zira sighed. “It’s like being a small child, again. All fingers and thumbs, and constantly tired. I hate it.”

“You are doing so much better. You can do this. I honestly believe you can do anything.”  


_Please tell me why you are lying. Angel. I’m terrified._

“Tell me about your art,” Zira said, sleepily. “You said you’d been painting.”

“That _would_ be an excellent sleeping pill,” Crowley laughed.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Crowley had painted. He’d painted a snake, it’s back broken in half by an ankle tag, falling through the sky, surrounded by blaring digital displays of the hours before 7am.

He told Zira instead of his plans for the gallery. A basilisk made of recycled glass holding up the sky, shimmering sea serpents breaching the ocean surface in the great pacific garden patch,ancient, batwinged dragons nesting on the Houses of Parliament. A giant red apple in the middle of it all, juice dripping from a single, missing bite.

Zira fell asleep quickly, but Crowley kept talking for a while, to be absolutely sure.

* * *

  
  


Newt had left Zira a Casio watch, so he could tell time without necessarily having to brave the brightness of a phone screen.

A quick glance at it told Zira he had fallen asleep again and missed most of Crowley’s brief visit.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do that. Had tried to get as much sleep as possible at other times, if only to be awake in that brief hour of the day... The middle hour of Crowley’s supposed lunch-break. The hour where he wasn’t traveling there and back.

“Only a few more weeks,” he told the empty room, but the thought had no comfort in it.

Hastur’s voice had been raspy. “ _I can force him to break his curfew. Nothing easier. Delay him with a few lads... slip something in his drink. And, once he’s back inside, well, I can make sure he loses more than teeth...”_

Zira shook his head, trying to dispel the voice. The image. What happened next.

“You don’t remember,” he told himself, firmly. “You don’t.”

A flash of movement, by the door, all but made him jump out of his skin. A jolt of pain, which triggered a canon of further jolts of pain, right through his body. He’d thought his head was the worst, but maybe it was his ribs. He could hold his head still, but the rib pain was with him with every breath.

“Sorry,” a voice said quietly.

“Hello, Beez,” Zira said as pleasantly as he could manage. “It’s nice if you to visit.”

_You don’t remember. You don’t._   
  


Beez shrugged. “I just wanted you to know that Hastur is off the street. I don’t know if...it’s called Meth Psychosis. He hulked out, in some pharmacy. Don’t think anyone was hurt, certainly not hurt like you, but... he’s on a public psych ward for now. Don’t know what happens after that, really.”

Zira bit the inside of his mouth. “I... I’m not sure what this has to do with me, dear.”

He wanted to say that he was ‘sorry to hear about their friend’.

But he _didn’t_ want to say that.

He didn’t think he _could possibly bear to_ say that.

“It’s just us, Zira. I know it was him. I knew the moment I heard. And Crowley and your friends are going to figure it out any minute,  if they haven’t already.”

Zira choked back a sob. “He said, if I told... told ANYONE it was him, that he’d hurt Crowley. Have his friends...”

Beez straightened their shoulders. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But...”

“I said I’ll take care of it, Zira. I have plenty of friends more dangerous than Hastur, and, while I might not like it, you are one of mine now. So... you wanna give a statement to the cops? Then, you go ahead. But two things, first. First thing is, meth is a crap-shoot. Most people who take it don’t get psychosis, but some do. And while they aren’t sure why, there’s a suggestion that extreme childhood trauma is a risk factor. Draw your own conclusions about what I’m trying to tell you. Second thing... I want you to ask Crowley about the mentally ill people he was locked up with. What it was like for them. What good he thinks it did them. Do that, and then give whatever statement to the cops you think is right.”

And suddenly, Zira felt angry. _Very_ angry. Angry enough not to care how much angry hurt, even though angry hurt a lot. “That’s not fair. Putting that on me! This isn’t my fault. None of that is my fault. He broke into my house. He was there to steal from me. Steal from me AGAIN. He threatened me. I admit I yelled at him. I was angry. He abandoned Crowley in prison, didn’t even visit him, and neither did you. And he stole from me. And I broke into my house to steal from me _again_.”

“It wasn’t _personal_. He didn’t think you’d be there...”

“But, I was there! In my home! Where I’ve every right to be! And he broke in...”

Beez nodded. “Yeah. He did. And he was high, on meth, which he bought with the only money he had left, and he was agitated, paranoid, desperate to avoid withdrawal, and you came at him shouting, holding a weapon.”

“I was holding a crutch!”

“And he took it off you, and nearly caved your head in with it, and god knows what else,” Beez finished. “I _know_. And so I’m telling you, he’s getting treatment. And, if you want him in prison, instead of in a hospital, then I imagine you can get that done. And, I won’t stop you, and I won’t let anyone else stop you. But, I am going to make you face _all_ of what you are doing. Before you do this, to my friend, I am going to make you _face_ it. Because _NONE_ of this is fair.”

“How dare you!”Zira’s head was pounding, his chest tight, and he was sure they were shouting at each other now.

And indeed, a moment later, a pair of nurses appeared and marched over to Beez. “Miss, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave. You are upsetting the patients.”

“It’s not ‘Miss’, don’t call me ‘ _Miss_ ’,” Beez snapped. “But yeah. I’m going. Said what I had to say.” They turned and marched out.

One nurse came over to Zira, while the other watched Beez leave. “You alright, pet?”

Zira nodded. “Could I trouble you for some ice chips please?” he asked, and was in tears by the end of the sentence.

“How about I get you a lemonade from the machine, pet?” The nurse cooed. “Like your man gets you. You like those, yeah? And, if you want, we’ll ban whoever that was from the ward. I’ll tell security, yeah?”

Zira broke a little more. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

The nurse gave him a hug. “It’s alright, pet. It’s alright.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Discussion of injuries, descriptions of violence and threats of violence, brief reference to illegal drug use.

Crowley ran his fingers through the smokey willow charcoal,massaging it into the paper grain. He was supposed to be working on his installation, but he was drawing Zira instead, sweeping his soft white curls out of the charcoal smoke with an eraser.

_You’re on my mind, Angel_ , Crowley sighed. _I mean, you always are, but... _

His phone buzzed with a text.

**Newt:**

**Hi Crowley! Everything is fine! But Ana and I are downstairs. Is it alright to come up and have a chat? (Everything is fine!)**

“Looks like I’m having dinner with the in-laws,” Crowley announced to his surviving succulents. “I suppose, they’re here to ask what my intentions are. Well... fastest way out is through.”

Within a few minutes, Newt entered the flat with a large, cheery expression that he could not possibly imagine looked genuine. Ana followed , with her eyebrows raised and lips slightly pursed.

_Everything isn’t fine... _

“What’s wrong?” Crowley demanded. “You said everything was fine.”

“ _Zira_ is fine,” Ana replied, cautiously. “He has a bit of a rough afternoon, and I’ll get to that in a bit, but there is something we need to talk to you about.”

Crowley sat down, before he fell down, and the others followed his example. “I thought you were here because Zira asked me to move in...”

“Oh, he did?” Ana replied, smiling genuinely now. “That’s lovely.”

Newts reaction was a bit more inscrutable, but Crowley supposed that was fair.

“And, it’s not about the dog?” Crowley felt he may as well add.  
  


“What dog?”  
  


“Zira wants a dog. Well, I _think_ it’s more that Zira wants to feel safe, and _I_ want a dog, and he’s killing two birds. But, I think Zira would be good with a dog. He could use some unconditional love.”

“I think we could all use that,” Ana replied, gently. “Not here about the dog, no.It’s early days, admittedly, but I suspect I am a supporter of the dog.”

“Then, is it going to be something with a bunch of big medical words?”

Ana sighed. “How about I just start, or we will be here all night, with the guessing. So, Zira had a really bad afternoon...”

“I just spoke to him on the phone,” Crowley replied. “While he was eating dinner... he’s got this idea in his head about... never mind. I _knew_ something wasn’t right. He seemed upset. But, I didn’t... lord knows he’s _entitled_ to be upset.”

Ana nodded. “Okay, so best we can gather, three things happened. There was a pretty disastrous physiotherapy session, where he tried walking. There’s right-sided weakness they’ve not really got to the bottom of, and almost certainly some damage to his inner ear, which has thrown off his balance. He can adjust... _will adjust_ , but it’s a thing that happened. So, there was that, and there was a meeting with a audiologist with a bit of a reputation for being awful, but, the main thing, I think, was... Beez.”

Crowley frowned. “Beez? _My_ Beez? What?”

“Yes. Your Beez. They dropped by, and according to the nurses, it ended in something of a shouting match.”

“ _Zira_ got in a shouting match? _My_ Zira?”

Ana sighed. “Yes, he did. And... well, Newt and I think we know why. Um, there’s no easy way to... and I _do_ appreciate how this must sound, coming from us. I’m sure, from your perspective we turned on you pretty quickly...”

“Ana, you haven’t _said_ anything, yet...”

“Crowley, we are pretty sure that it was Hastur who broke into the house, and attacked Zira. And we are pretty sure that Zira knows this, and is lying about it. This suggests to me that Hastur threatened him. We would... like your help in encouraging Zira to tell the truth to the police, and to file for a protective order against Hastur.”

Newt coughed, sounding almost embarrassed. “I contacted Zira’s brother this afternoon, to get the details for their family’s solicitor, who has agreed to draft the protective order application. But ultimately, Zira will have to sign it, and give a corrected statement to the police, to make it happen. Can we...? We think a united front would...”

“Hastur?” Crowley asked, softly. “ _My Hastur_?”

_Oh well, obviously. It’s been staring at you in the face this whole time, hasn’t it? _

“Guys... look,” Crowley stammered. “I know Hastur is a little rough around the edges... and he knows some shonky people, but...”

Newt clicked his tongue. “He _did_ knock out your teeth...”

“But, Zira almost died!” Crowley replied desperately. “Hastur isn’t a killer, he’s just...”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Newt muttered.

“Meth does things to people, “ Ana tried. “Meth is...”

“I know what Meth is,” Crowley snapped. “What it does...”

Ana raised an eyebrow. “Well, Crowley, I do apologise for _bourgeois-splaining_ Meth to you. Whoever broke in knew where Zira kept his drugs. So that’s me, you, Zira, Newt, and Hastur. What’s your theory? Which of us _is_ ‘a killer’, if Hastur isn’t?”

Crowley sighed. “No... you’re right. I know you’re right. I just... I just need a minute with this... because...”

_Because this goes on your tally, doesn’t it? On the ‘Things you’ve done to Zira’ tally. What the fuck kind of love do you call this, Crowley? How much are you going to let him get hurt before you..._

“Crowley, this isn’t your fault,” Ana said.

Crowley ignored her and met Newts eyes instead. “Isn’t it?”

Newt looked away. 

* * *

It was half past nine in the evening, and Zira was deciding, for the millionth time, that he _hated_ television, when his phone rang.

“Crowley dear! This is unexpected! You were so insistent that I needed my rest! But, I’m so happy you called.”

_“I heard you had a rough afternoon, Angel”_ Crowley’s voice sounded sad. 

Sad, for _Zira_. It distressed, and secretly thrilled Zira, in about equal measure.

“I’m afraid I was a bit childish about the whole learning-to-walk-again thing,” Zira replied. “Which is silly, because it’s not like I haven’t done it before! I think it was because it was afternoon. Honestly, mornings would be better. I’m less snippy in the morning.”

“ _You’re less tired in the morning, Angel. That’s all..._”

“And then, this ghastly audiologist... I mean, I’m not opposed to hearing aids, Crowley, they come to us all, if we live long enough. Only it was, rather _sprung_ on me, that I might... anyway. I was a bit childish, all round, I’m afraid, my dear. You’d have been quite ashamed of me, I’m...”

“ _Beez, Angel_ ,” Crowley interrupted, trying to be gentle. “ _Hastur_.”

There was a long silence.

  
  


Crowley decided to fill it. “ _Newt and Ana came by and told me about Beez, and that they are pretty sure it was Hastur, and you are lying about not remembering...”_

“Crowley...”

“ _And, I thought you were lying too, I just couldn’t figure out exactly what you were lying about..._ ”

“Crowley, I’m...”

“ _I’m not mad at you for lying, Angel. Where could I possibly get the nerve to be mad at you for keeping secrets? Now... now, Newt and Ana, they think you lied because Hastur threatened you, and you are frightened of him. But... but that’s not it, is it? Somehow, I think I know you better. Hastur threatened me_.”

Zira was tired. So tired. Too tired to think his way out of this, to think his way around Crowley. And that, he realised was why Crowley had called at night, against his own insistence that Zira rest. 

_When all else fails..._

“Yes. You’re right, my dear. It was Hastur. I was a little confused initially, but I do remember. He thought I would be at your place, and broke in for pills. I lost my temper... and he... his eyes looked strange, they weren’t right. He knocked me down, said he’d take what he liked, and if I told anyone he’d arrange to have you break your curfew, and that his friends, the ones who broke your teeth would... I... tried to back off then, I think, but he just... kept coming... he didn’t seem... it didn’t seem like there was a person in there. Just paranoia. Rage. He knocked me down, and... I don’t quite know the terminology... I think it’s called a body slam? Hewrestled the crutch from my hand and... “

“ _Angel_...”

“I’m alright. Crowley,” Zira interrupted. Crowley’s pity was _right out_. He was _not_ having it, now. “And, I’ve made my decision. Your freedom and safety is the most important...”

“ _No, Angel_ ” Crowley sighed. “ _It’s not. And this is the moment when you find out what a bastard you stupidly fell in love with. I won’t let you be held hostage to my freedom, or to my remaining teeth. I’ve hurt you enough, when all I’ve ever wanted was... it’s not happening._”

Zira was alarmed to find himself angry, again. “Crowley, it isn’t up to you.”

“ _It is, though, Angel. Because all I have to do, is open my front door, walk a few feet down the hallway, sit down, and wait. Wait for them to come get me. Nothing easier. Hastur loses all his leverage over you, if I walk a few feet out my own door._ ”

“Crowley, stop!” Zira demanded. He could swear he had just heard Crowley’s deadbolt slide back. “You stop! That’s not fair. This isn’t up to you. It’s my decision.”

“ _None of this is fair, Angel. But Hastur caved in your head, and I caved in your heart, and you aren’t thinking straight. One of us has to act in your best interest_.”

“Fine! I’ll call the police,” Zira found himself crying. “I’ll call them, right now. But please, please stay inside. Please.”

“ _Angel_...”

“Crowley! I’ll tell the police! But, don’t walk through that door! Don’t do it, or I’ll...”

...never talk to you again.

“I’ll...”

...break up with you, and never talk to you again. And never, never forgive you.

“Or...I’ll... get a cat! _Ten_ cats! No dog, and ten shedding, houseplant-eating, furniture-chewing, trip-hazard cats, that’ll get up on the kitchen bench, and refuse to use litter trays. The growliest, scratchiest, most bad-tempered cats, from the soppiest, no-killiest shelter in a London. The worst, least-adoptable cats they have.”

Crowley snorted. The deadbolt clicked back. “ _That’s your big gun, is it? Anti-social cats_?”

“Ten anti-social cats. I have ten anti-social cats in my arsenal.”

“ _Eat your heart out, Trident_!”

Zira sighed. “I want you. I want you here, with me. I had a awful day and I want you here with me.”

Crowley sighed. “ _Get some sleep, Angel. I’ll... I’ll see you tomorrow_.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Discussion of chronic medical conditions, discussion of wheelchair use, mild ableism, implied emotional abuse.
> 
> I will be resuming a more sustainable posting schedule now we are past the more angsty cliffhangers. Sorry...I’m not really managing.

One hour a day. 

It was not enough, of course. You could add several hours to the day and there would still not be enough hours available to spend enough hours a day with Zira. 

But, Crowley cherished it anyway.

Because it was a miracle that he had even this. Surely, by rights, he’d had been booted out of Zira’s life entirely.

And worse, but for whoever had called the ambulance...

Sitting behind Zira, on a hospital bed. Zira’s head on his shoulder, Crowley unconsciously kissed the stubby, regrowing blond curls at the very thought.

In reality, it would have been Newt’s stomach dropping atthe broken glass pane, the open front door. Newt barging inside. Newt finding...

But, in Crowley’s dreams, it was Crowley.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything Angel?”

_Chocolates? A milkshake? The Holy Grail? Hastur’s head in a box?_

“Don’t you dare move,” Zira replied moodily. “I swear this is the only hour a day I feel like a person. In your arms. Breathing in whatever it is you do to the air around you. I refuse to deprive myself of a second of it.”

“Poor Angel,” Crowley murmured. “You’ll feel better tomorrow, my love. Once your home with all your own things.”

What he didn’t say was that the additional distance cut their time even further.

“I do miss proper sheets. And quilts!” Zira admitted. “Not to mention privacy, and water pressure. Properly made tea! But don’t... you‘ll jinx it. I still have to pass that wheelchair test this afternoon, or they won’t let me out.”

Crowley gave him a little squeeze. “You’ll do fine. Do you mind though..? being discharged before you can walk again?”

“Not really, no. The sooner the better. I _really do_ miss water pressure! Why do you ask?”

Crowley sighed. “I think it would bother me... if it were me, I mean, I don’t mean it bothers me about you... but...”

Zira sighed. “It’s just because you still have your bubble, my dear. You still take your body for granted, just _assume_ it will work the way you want it to. You can rely on it, without thinking. For me, it’s more that I live ina much loved, miraculous, but also _very much imperfect_ machine. A bit missing here, broken and worn down components there. Ultimately, once one is outside that bubble, a wheelchair isn’t so much a symbol of existential dread, as it is a fairly convenient way to get from the sitting room to the kitchen, and to get the shopping done.”

Crowley shook his head. “I just... you are so _casual_ about it all. Why aren’t you ever angry? I mean, I’m angry for you... why aren’t you just... Some _idiot_ treats a forklift like a toy, and it changes the course of your life, and then, I bring Hastur into your life and he takes even more. Honestly, Zira. Why aren’t you garroting us all with piano wire?”

“Well, the forklift driver died,” Zira replied quietly. “I don’t know if I told you that... but the whole thing tipped over... and, they train them to stay put, if that happens, I think, let the roll cage thingy protect them. But this kid... he felt it go, and tried to jump clear... How can I be _angry_ at a man, at a child really, who died in a pointless accident, at only nineteen?”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably. “At Hastur, then. And at, me...”

“I do not endorse you blaming yourself, Crowley,” Zira sighed. “And, I _am_ angry with Hastur. I may not show it, but... it’s uncomfortable for me to be angry, Crowley. It’s not how I was brought up. Gabe was permitted anger, I suppose, but otherwise... I... I’m not sure how to explain it, but it doesn’t feel _safe_ to be angry.”

“You _should_ feel safe, Angel,” Crowley replied softly. “Feeling angry... or feeing however you feel. I want to change that for you. I... you’ll see. Once I get rid of this stupid tag. I’m going to be better. Really _be there_ for you.”

“You _are_ here for me, my dear,” Zira sighed. “I meant it, when I said that this time with you is not just the best part of my day, but, in some ways, the only bearable part. You hold me, and everything just seems so much simpler. I can’t imagine going through all this without you.”

“Of course, you can’t,” Crowley muttered. “You _wouldn’t_ be.”

“Crowley! You _mustn’t_...”

“How can I not, Angel? How can I love you, and not also rue the day you met me? All the pain I’ve caused you?”

Zira’s left hand gently collected a tear from Crowley’s cheek. “And what about the joy you’ve caused me? Are you accounting properly for that? Because I don’t think you _can_ be...Have I not shown you? Not told you? Because, if I haven’t... I’m... I’m so sorry Crowley.”

There was something about Zira apologising to him that made Crowley want to catapult himself straight out the window.

“It’s going to be better. _I’m_ going to be better,” Crowley murmured. “You’ll see.”

Zira nestled his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “You don’t need to be _better_. Just _you_. I love _you_.”

But Crowley shook his head. 

_You’ll see._

* * *

“Thank you for driving me to the station.”

Newt sighed. “You don’t need to say that every day, Crowley.”

“I _think it_ every day,” Crowley sighed. “It saves me ten minutes, but, those ten extra minutes with Zira...”

Newt nodded. “Yeah, that’s what Zira says. How much it means to him. He’s in for a difficult few months. Especially with university as a goal... any little thing I can do for him...”

“Newt listen,” Crowley began. “I know you don't like me very much...”

“No.”

“Please, wait. Listen, I...”

“No, you listen,” Newt replied. “I _don’t_ dislike you. That isn’t it. That’s _never_ been it. I admit you aren’t who I pictured Zira with, ultimately. Embarrassingly, and this probably says something not-so-great about me, I always pictured Zira with someone much more like him. Another cuddly, sweet, gentle man. With a waistcoat and bow-tie collection to match Zira’s. Like a pair of those peach-faced love birds. He’s my best friend, but I completely forgot that he’s a hopeless romantic... _of course_ he was going to fall for some impoverished, rakish artist, with a streak of danger. And, you waltz into his life, like a chavvy Lord Byron, and... I didn’t like it. I still don’t. But he’s so in love with you. So _listen_. We are going to skip right over the part where you decide you aren’t good enough for him, and break up with him to save him. _You hear me_? There’s no time for it, and he doesn’t have the reserve for it. So, we are skipping it. You don’t get to run. You stay, you put your skinny shoulder to the wheel, and you get him through this.”

“Newt, I don’t know what you are...”

“I’m talking about that stupid threat of yours! Getting arrested to call Hastur’s bluff, or whatever that was about,” Newt snapped. “I’m ten pence and a sandwich away from handcuffing you to a radiator every night to keep you in that damn flat.”

Crowley folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t have a radiator.”

“That _WILL NOT STOP ME_.”

“No, it wouldn’t would it?” Crowley sighed. “I... I always wanted a friend like you. I always tried to be a good friend. To be loyal, supportive... to pour as much as I could into each friendship so that... Never worked out for me, though, did it? I can only make the type of friends that abandon you, or beat up your boyfriend for drugs. So tell me, Newt, how can a man, who can only make friends like _that_ , be good enough for Zira?”

Newt sighed. “I’m pretty sure you already have a therapist, Crowley. But I’ll say this. If you have a mediocre friendship, and you want a great one, you can’t just keep pouring more and more of yourself into it, and expect someone like Beez or Hastur to reciprocate. I’m not saying you have to give up on them. Beez, I mean. For fuck’s sake, give up on Hastur already, would you? Yeah, _someone_ should recognise his basic humanity, but it doesn’t have to be Zira, and it doesn’t have to be _you_. You’re a gardener, right? Then... tend more fertile ground. If there’s a good heart in there, after all... be more careful who you hand pieces of it to.”

Crowley snorted. “Bloody hell! I’d hate to hear the size of your speech of you _were_ my therapist...”

Newt rolled his eyes. “Just... get out of my car. I’ll see you tomorrow. Drive you to the house.”

“Knock on wood,” Crowley sighed. “Zira wants to go home.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: childhood IPV/bullying; reference to disordered eating; anxiety; catastrophising; passing reference to potential MVA

“ _Is it really just a few more hours? It’s hard to believe..._”

Crowley had to agree. It didn’t feel real. “You aren’t wrong, Angel. Do you think my ankle will feel weird? When I was a kid, I got this watch for my birthday. It was red and black, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. It was even a little water-proof so I didn’t take it off, for months. Eventually, this older kid took it off me. Never did get it back. And the weird thing was that my wrist _missed_ it. Felt wrong. Like salt in the wound.”

“ _Oh Crowley! I’m sorry..._ ”

Crowley blinked. “Sorry for what?”

“ _I don’t... you just told me an awful story, about your favourite thing being stolen from you_!”

“I was telling you a story about my wrist feeling weird! It’s fine!”

“ _It’s not fine. I’m buying you a watch._ ”

Crowley sighed. “You don’t have to...”

“ _It’s your birthday soon, and I’ll buy you whatever I want. And I’m getting you a watch. No arguments! Don’t worry. I won’t get a fussy, old pocket watch you’ll have to pretend to like, or anything. I’ll find out what’s cool. Someone will know..._ ”

Crowley smiled to himself. “Angel, you don’t have to...”

“ _Stop it, Crowley. You are my boyfriend, and in about four and a half hours you will be my live-in boyfriend. I’m buying you a birthday present, and that’s the end of it. And, since you’ve been peevish about it, I’m_ _also_ _going to bake you a birthday cake. And you will have to pretend to like that, because every cake I’ve ever made has come out rock hard, and that was when both hands worked properly, so I don’t see that changing.”_

Crowley had had exactly one birthday cake in his life, that he could remember. He’d been maybe eight or nine, and it had been served with a scoop of strawberry ice cream.There had even been some ice cream left the next day. “You are lousy at threats, Angel. Anyone ever told you that?”

“ _It wasn’t a threat, it was a promise!_ ” Zira replied, doing an impersonation of lord-knows-who. “ _And I wasn’t done. Pointy cardboard hats, and candles. No, sparklers! Sparklers, instead of candles. People will sing! You are going to hate it...”_

“But, you’ve already given me a present,” Crowley interrupted, glancing over at the little box Zira had given him. The key to Zira’s house.

“ _You haven’t opened it, have you?_ ”

Crowley snorted. “No! A promise is a promise. I’ll open it at midnight, like you said.”

_“I wish I could stay on the phone with you till then...”_

“... but you have a headache,” Crowley finished.

_“How did you know that?”_

Oh, I can hear it, Angel. I can hear it in your voice. I can hear how tight your chest is, your voice...

“Just a guess, sweetheart. Go lie down somewhere dark for a while.”

“ _But...”_

“I’ll be there soon. And if you sleep it will go faster.”

Unfortunately, Crowley was in no position to heed his own advice. 

_You have to listen for the door. What happens if you don’t answer the door? What if they don’t knock loud enough to wake you... If things go bad now, what will it do to Zira? What will it do to you?_

Crowley took a breath and tried to remember his therapist’s advice.

“Right... let’s...” he said to himself. “I am having anxious thoughts. I acknowledge those anxious thoughts. I do not judge myself for having anxious thoughts. I rationally evaluate those thoughts, and I find them to be unhelpful, and so I put those thoughts back down, without judgement, and allow them to pass from my mind like leaves on the surface of a... fucking hell, this is a bunch of new age crap, isn’t it?”

_How are you going to hide how little you are eating when you live with him?_

“Shut up.”

_Just asking..._

Crowley growled and grabbed his sketchbook out of the top of the bag, neatly packed, he had set by the front door.

Aggressive graphite lines. Too dark. Too heavy. A raptor with outspread talons. 9B wasn’t dark enough. He needed charcoal. 

He looked up, the end of his pencil tapping, and caught sight of the little hand-wrapped box.

_What if there isn’t a key in there?_

“Stop it,” he hissed to himself. “Why wouldn’t there be?”

_Could you blame him? It’s the sort of thing he’d do, isn’t it? Stick by your side until the end of your sentence, even if he didn’t want you._

“No. Zira wouldn’t end things that way. He’s too kind... too...”

_But wouldn’t you deserve it? And what if he’s afraid to end things in person? After one of your best friends beat him to a pulp? It would make sense, wouldn’t it?_

“No... he wouldn’t...”

_Then why aren’t you allowed to open the box until midnight?_

“Because Zira is like that. Because he’s pointy party-hats, and sparklers.”

_Look in the box, Crowley. You’ll see. You’ll see the truth... what you are worth._

“I promised. Midnight.”

_Look in the box. It’s over._

“Fuck!” 

Crowley stormed over to the box, undid the bright red bow, lifted the sparkly silver lid.

Immediately below the lid was a folded, handwritten note, nothing immediately apparent beneath it except fluffy cotton wool. 

With a shaking hand, Crowley unfolded the note.

It was short, the handwriting still rough, and shaky.

> Stop laughing! I tried.

What?

Crowley gently lifted the cotton wool. Inside there was a key. Attached to a handmade key chain. A cheerily green, little snake rolled out of bake-in-the-oven clay, with big, white google-eyes, one of which had been quite obviously superglued back on.

It was amateurish, a little silly, and instantly one of his favourite possessions. 

And it was attached to a key to Zira’s home.

Crowley sighed, and rubbed his eyes.

Then, he carefully pulled the key off the ring, and placed the little snake back in its cotton wool -it would definitely not last a second in his pocket.

“I’ll put you on the mantle,” he told it. “Maybe on the piano.”

He looked over at the scribbled raptor, sighed, and closed his sketchbook, putting it back in the packed bag, and placed the little silver box on top.

The key, he squeezed in his hand.

* * *

“Crowley, you’re here,” Zira’s voice was soft in his darkened bedroom.

Crowley couldn’t quite see him. His eyes had not adjusted yet. He set down his bag carefully, making sure the little box inside wouldn’t be crushed. “And you’re awake. In my imagination you’re always asleep when I get here. I just crawl into bed next to you.”

“I did sleep earlier, for a bit,” Zira whispered. “But then I woke up, and couldn’t get back to sleep. I kept imagining that the taxi would crash on its way here. Silly, I know, but I couldn’t get rid of the thought. I guess part of me couldn’t believe it was over.”

Crowley pulled off his shoes, tossed his coat and climbed carefully into the bed. 

Zira’s arms found him at once, and hugged him furiously.

Crowley automatically checked how much harder the left squeezed than the right.

“I’m here, Angel. I’m alright.”

Zira sniffed. “I shouldn’t have said that though, about it being over. I know it isn’t for you. Not really. You are still unwell, hurt. You still won’t smile in public. It isn’t over...”

“But we are together now,” Crowley interrupted softly. “Nothing keeping us apart. I’m here and I’m sticking to you like a barnacle. You’ll be sick of me by Tuesday. You’ll see.”

Zira laughed softly.

“And I like my keychain!” Crowley added. “Love it, actually. Some real talent you have there.”

“Stop, you fiend! Newt bought me the clay for therapy. Something to work on at home, with my right hand. And I wanted to make you something... it looked better in my head.”

“I’m not teasing you!” Crowley replied. “Well... I mean, I am, a _bit_ , don’t quit your day job! But, the point of art is to spark something, a thought, an emotion in the audience. And if you judge success by that metric, well... I haven’t been moved like that for some time.”

Zira scoffed. “I’ll give you your proper present in the morning. I’m just too tired to get up now.”

Crowley nuzzled his neck lasciviously. “Right back at you!”  
  


“I love you.”

  
  


Crowley kissed him gently. “I love you, too.”   
  


Zira kissed him back. “Welcome home.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: direct descriptions of (past) violence; anxiety; description of injuries

There was a moment of disorientated panic on waking, confusion about where he was, a stomach dropping fear be hadn’t charged his tag before sleeping. 

But, Crowley caught up with himself quickly. Quickly enough that he could pretend to still be asleep. Zira was in the process of transferring from bed to wheelchair to head to the lav, moving furtively, clearly trying very hard not to wake Crowley by doing so.

  
Crowley decided to let Zira think he’d succeeded, only pretending to wake a decent interval after Zira crawled back in next to him.

“Good morning, Angel,” Crowley said, before laying back to bask in the warm, sunburst smile his words caused.

“Good morning, my love,” Zira replied.

The words held a conviction and trusting sincerity that made Crowley uncomfortable. Made him want turn around and look behind himself for the true object of such miraculous love. He didn’t though. He sat with the discomfort for Zira’s sake. Pretended he could be _worthy_ of such a love. Pretended he could _rise._

Not quite trusting his words, or his voice, Crowley pulled Zira into his arms instead and held held him, caressed the planes of his back, kissed his neck. “Let’s just do this today,” he murmured. “All day. Just this.”

Zira giggled happily in reply. “I don’t think I’ve half the self-control necessary to argue with such a delightful prospect. But, first, I _have to_ give you this. Your real present. I promised. A moment, my dear...”

Zira reaches down to the floor on his side of the bed and passed Crowley what was, clearly, a gift-wrapped paintbrush.

Crowley held it up to his ear and shook it. “It’s a football!”

Zira giggled again, while Crowley took off the paper, as always careful not to tear it, sure he would reuse it for something or other.

The gift _was_ a paintbrush. An expensive looking one, with soft springy natural bristles, and a rosewood coloured handle. Crowley balanced it in his hand, appreciatively. He had no real need of such a thing, but that did not make it unlovely. “It’s beautiful, Angel. I’ll treasure it.”

“The gift isn’t _just_ the paintbrush, of course,” Zira added. “Also, the sun-room!”

Crowley spun the brush around his fingers, while Zira watched. “The sun-room?”

“For a studio!” Zira replied, as though it were obvious. “It doesn’t _have_ to be the sun room. Although, that room gets naturally light all year round, and a breeze and shade in summer and plenty of morning sun in winter, so I thought, based on my research, that it would be best... but, you may have _any_ room you _like_ for your studio _,_ except for Newt’s.”

“A studio?” Crowley stammered. “I don’t really need a dedicated...”

“Oh, but you _should have one_ ,” Zira interrupted. “Honestly, this whole house is set up around me, and my needs. The flooring, the cabinets, the hand-rails everywhere. And, I want you to feel every bit at home here. So... a room of your own. Just as you like it. Full of easels, and paint, and sketchbooks, and jars full of all-sorts, whatever you like!”

“Zira, this is _your_ home...”

“ _Our_ home,” Zira replied, firmly. “I want this to work, and so we are going to start off properly. You live here too, and you get an equal say, and you get the sun-room.”

Crowley nodded softly. “It’s such a kind thought, but not needed. I was going to ask you about the garden, actually. Ask if I could do them up, to pull my weight. So I could make my mark there and...”

“Please do!” Zira replied instantly. “But as well, not instead. If it will bring you joy, then gardens are hereby yours entirely. I can only imagine that every plant, to the smallest blade of grass will be _very relieved_ by the change in ownership.”

“You are too good to me,” Crowley whispered. “Too good to _everyone_ , actually. You’d give me the shirt off your back. Speaking of which, give me the shirt off your back...”

“You need my shirt?” Zira asked, innocently, even as he began reach for the white, cotton hem.

“I need you _out_ of it,” Crowley growled.

Zira laughed, pulling the shirt over his head. “Oh! Well, in that case, I...”

“Zira, what _is_ that?!”

Zira blinked, followed Crowley’s gaze and then flinched, his hand, seemingly unconsciously rising to cover the scarring-over bite mark on his collarbone. “Oh... that’s...um...”

“That’s a _bite mark!_ ” Crowley interrupted, horrified. “Hastur _bit_ you?”

“Apparently so,” Zira replied, quietly. “Unless one of the paramedics was feeing a bit peckish...”

“Nobody _told_ me!”

Zira seemed to shrink a little further. “I... I’m sorry. I... head injuries do rather tend to pull focus, I guess I might have forgotten to...”

“But _he bit you_!”

Part of Crowley was aware of how uncomfortable Zira looked, saw how the sweet openness of his face was closing down, saw his shoulders beginning to hunch over.

  
_You need to stop! Look at him..._

But somehow, it had all been _hypothetical_ , Hastur hurting Zira.  


There had been nothing hypothetical about Zira’s awful injuries, of course. Nothing hypothetical about the brain scans, the bruising, the broken bones. Nothing hypothetical about the soft tremor in Zira’s voice, the way he startled at loud noises, the way his eyes flicked toward doorways. 

  
But Crowley hadn’t felt it until now. He’d felt the shock, and the horrible, bottomless guilt. Felt the memory of the fear of being held by two, while a third pounded his fist into his face.   
  


  
  


... but he had not felt _this_. Not the rage. The howling soul-consuming _rage_. Because, _right there_ , right in front of him, were Hastur’s teeth set in angry pink scar tissue on Zira’s skin. Hastur’s _teeth_ in Zira’s _skin_. 

“Crowley, I’m sorry,” Zira whispered miserably, frantically reading and rereading Crowley’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to mention it... it hardly seemed... but I... I....”

Zira was mere seconds from tears, by the time Crowley pulled himself together enough to try to salvage the situation.  


He tamped down on the anger as hard as he could. Promising to feed it later, promising it satisfaction... _later_.

Because, there was one thing more important. One more pressing thing, in the whole world, because Zira’s heart was starting to bleed in Crowley’s hands.

“No! No, Angel! Don’t be _sorry_!” Crowley blurted out, pulling Zira back into his arms. “I should be _sorry_! That was _not_ an appropriate reaction to my sexy boyfriend taking off his shirt! I just... I didn’t know about it, and, for a moment, it was happening all over again, you were hurt all over again... but, you! You are perfect, and beautiful, and so generous, and sweet...”

“I’m precisely _none_ of those things,” Zira sniffed, wiping his eyes furtively.

Crowley squeezed him harder. “No, you are, you are! This was... this was just the last gasp of me being the world’s worst partner! From now on, that changes. World’s best partner, starting...right...now!”

“You do give truly excellent hugs...” Zira sighed. “But, the way you looked at me just now... I... it hurt my feelings. I guess I’m a little sensitive right.....ahhh...”

“Well, if you are feeling too _sensitive_ right now, we must investigate the matter fully,” Crowley purred, bring Zira to a halt by twisting around him, straddling him nuzzling his neck.“Really map it out, this _sensitivity_. Figure out exactly which parts of you are feeling sensitive. Figure out _exactly_ what we can do to help them feel better...”

“Crowley, I...”

“Shhhh.” Crowley leaned forward and gently kissed the crinkles next to Zira’s right eye. “How about there? Is it too sensitive there?”

Zira hummed. “Not certain, I’m afraid. Can you do it again? I’ll pay attention this time. Really evaluate it accurately.”

Crowley obliged. 

Zira closed his eyes. “That... that felt... _good_ actually. Maybe just once more time? To be properly scientific about it...”

Crowley picked up his new paintbrush and brushed the bristles, very gently over that same little patch of skin. “How about that time?”

Zira tilted his head as if considering. “That... was nice, but not quite as nice. _Curious_.”

“That is curious,” Crowley agreed. “Your right temple has a preference for my lips over a similar stimulus! I think we should study this further. Launch a complete investigation. I wonder, for example, how your cheekbone feels on the topic. Your nose. And, how about under your chin? The palms of your hands? I‘d love to find out, if you are game.”

“Conditionally, yes,” Zira whispered, already slightly flushed. “I do have some sore places, and the odd area that might be a little... ticklish.”

“Then, I will go very, very slowly,” Crowley promised. “And I will watch and listen very, very closely. And I will be very, very careful.”

“And is that still fun?” Zira asked. “If you are being so very, very careful?” And there was a very slight tone of neediness in his voice, running under the flush of need.

Crowley scoffed. “Is it still fun? Is it still fun?! Not only is it fun, but it’s fun of the very, very best kind.”

“But, what about...?”

”Shh... And, close your eyes, or you’ll compromise the _science_.”

”Well, we can’t have _that_...”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: mild objectification, disordered eating + compulsive exercise, ableism, internalised ableism

Ana sipped her tea. “What on earth is he _doing_ out there, anyway?”

“I don’t quite know, my dear,” Zira replied, making a sandwich at the kitchen table, a more convienient height for his wheelchair than the kitchen benches. “I’ve given him full run of bothgardens, front and back. I do _so_ want him to feel comfortable here.”

“I don’t know _much_ about gardening, I’ll admit,” Ana mused. “But, he doesn’t seem to be _planting_ anything. Just sort of tearing things out, and digging holes, and... sweating.”

Zira hummed. “I’m heading out there in a minute.”

“To spectate?” Ana asked, cocking an eyebrow. “ _Naughty_!”

“I am making him a sandwich!” Zira replied, half-heartedly scandalized.

Ana chuckled. “I thought that was for _you_!”

“ _This_ one is for me. I thought I would take them both out. That we could eat together...”

“Oh, that’s a sweet idea!” Ana replied. “Would you like a hand?”

Zira balanced one sandwich on his lap and the second on top of the first. “Should be fine, thank you...”

“Do you want to try and manage a jug of water, as well?” Ana asked. “In case he wants a drink? Or wants to pour it over his head for you in slow motion?”

“I am taking him _sustenance_ ,” Zira replied firmly. “Not... _leering_.”

“Suit yourself...”

* * *

Honestly, the last thing Crowley felt like was eating - a _sandwich no less_ \- but, his Zira had made him one, and brought it out to him, so he reached out for it anyway, pulling off his gloves and wiping his hands on his black tank top.

To complete the irony, Zira - _of course_ \- gave Crowley the upper sandwich from the stack, and kept the lower one, slightly crushed by Crowley’s plate, for himself.  


Even though Crowley was in no position to enjoy the ‘springy texture’ of the bread. Even though Zira probably _would have_.

It was a beautifully conceived, tasty, fresh sandwich. Great care had been taken to make it. But, it tasted like over-chewed slime in Crowley’s mouth anyway. 

“I should have brought out some water,” Zira fretted.

Crowley waved his water-flask. “I have water, Angel.”

“Cool water, from the fridge,” Zira sighed. “You look so _very_ hot. And I’m quite thirsty myself just from sitting here, watching you...”

Crowley laughed. “Oh, Angel. The things you say!”

Zira looked pleased at making Crowley laugh, if a little uncertain as to quite how he’d done so. “And, how is it going out here?”

Crowley inclined his head. “Not so bad! Few of the neighbours dropped by for a chat. Only about half mistook me for your gardener.”

Zira snorted. “I do hope you put them right.”

“Mostly I did, yeah,” Crowley agreed. “Although the lady across the way offered me a shocking amount of money to do up her hedges, and I have to say I’m pretty tempted....”

Zira raised an eyebrow.

“Literal hedges, Angel,” Crowley clarified. “At least, I _think_ so...Probably... I do _really_ want my teeth fixed...”

Zira laughed softly, and the sound was lovely to Crowley. Worth a million slime sandwiches.  


“Can I get you anything, dear?” Zira asked, reaching for Crowley’s plate. “Otherwise I think I might have a little lie down. I think the sun has gotten to me a little.”

Crowley smiled. “Good idea, Angel. I’ll be inside in a bit. I’m sorry it looks a bit of a mess, now but it will look lovely when I’m done, I promise. I was thinking white flowers. Alliums andstar jasmine, through spring and summer, pansies and snowdrops, in winter. Maybe some winter honeysuckle or Christmas rose? What do you think?”

Zira stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. Perhaps a little too thoughtfully. “White flowers don’t seem very you...” he began hesitantly. 

“Hey, trust me okay?” Crowley replied. “You said I could have the garden. So let me have it, yeah? Now, inside with you!I’ll be inside in a bit. Do some painting.”

Crowley worked a while longer, his head a little clearer for the sandwich, although he was loath to admit it, before he found himself being watched.

He looked up, wearing exactly the right smile, expecting another neighbour. 

It was Beez.

“Fuck,” Crowley muttered. “How long were you going to... just, fucking, _stand over me,_ like a buzzard. What do you want, Beez?”

Beez took a drag of their cigarette. “Well, I mean it’s quite a show, isn’t it. You’ve gone full suburban. Fucking _gardening_!”

“What the fuck are you..? I like plants!” Crowley hissed throwing down his shovel. “I’ve _always_ liked plants. Just cause _you_ don’t give a shit about them doesn’t mean... and, I don’t really _want_ you here, anyway. You should be fucking ashamed of yourself, that shit you pulled on Zira. You’re better than that victim blaming shit, or at least I _thought_ you were. So you can fuck right off, frankly.”

Beez rolled their eyes. “Can I now? Well, I don’t want to. I’m standing in a public street. You could call the filth, I suppose. An address like this, and they’d probably even come! Scare off the _undesirable_...”

“Or you could, just, be a person?” Crowley snapped. “Realise that you fucked up, and leave before you do any more damage?”

Beez shrugged. “What damage have I supposedly done? All I did was make sure Zira knew that the criminal justice system is a flaming pile of dog shite. Which, you know, _it is_. And, he went ahead and ratted Hastur out anyway. So, I can’t have done too much damage, can I? That’s what I came to say, by the way. That Hastur’s been deemed fit for trial. That they are threatening him with an attempted murder charge as leverage.”

“Good,” Crowley hissed. 

Beez curled their lip. “Yeah? Extorting confessions out of mentally ill people by overcharging them is _good_ , is it? Well, _fuck you,_ if you think that. He broke in there because he was sick and desperate, and he hit Zira because he was in fear of his life. It’s unfortunate how it turned out...”

“Unfortunate?! Self-fucking-defense? I can’t...Hastur broke his skull! There was bleeding next to his brain. Beez, he can’t walk!”

  
  


Beez laughed. “Oh? Is having a disabled boyfriend a bit more of a drag, when shit gets real? Is a wheelchair not quite so fun to Instagram?”

“Go to hell, Beez!” Crowley snarled. “ _Seriously_! Just, get the fuck out of here, before Zira sees you.”

“Nah, fuck that,” Beez flicked the cigarette out of their mouth, and ground it out with their boot.“I’m talking to Zira. Maybe there’s still something he can do to...”

“ _No_.” 

“Crowls...”

“No, I won’t let you,Beez. Is the system fucked? Yeah! First hand experience! But... you can’t ask victims to just boycott the _criminal justice system_ like it’s a fucking t-shirt made of Uzbekistan cotton...”

Beez narrowed their eyes. “I can _ask_ whatever I fucking want, Crowley.”

“Not here you can’t. You need to leave. And I’m going inside. This conversation is _done_. _We’re_ done.”

Crowley marched inside without looking back... 

...and found Zira just inside the door. He’d clearly heard everything. “Crowley, dear, I... are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m alright, Angel, don’t...” Crowley sighed. “Don’t _worry_ about me. Just... can you remind me to go back outside, for those tools, in a bit? Assuming fucking Beez doesn’t fucking _liberate_ them, on behalf of the oppressed proletariat...”

“Of course, Crowley dear,” Zira replied softly. Then, after a pause, Zira spoke again, looking over at the floor. “It happened right here, you know. They found me right there. There’s a dent in that floor board from one of the swings. Just there.”

Crowley rubbed his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Angel. So sorry. And... I’ll replace that floor board for you. Tomorrow.”

“It’s alright, Crowley love,” Zira replied, opening his arms in expectation of a hug. “I can get a floor person in. And just so you... I _can_ walk... a bit. Just not terribly safely, yet. I’m _working_ on it...”

Crowley fell to his knees beside Zira’s chair and gave him a hug, determined not to cry.

“Crowley?” Zira asked, after a minute or so. “What is the matter with Uzbek cotton? Is it genetically modified or something?”

Crowley shook his head. “Forced labour issue. Used to be kiddies, too. It’s a bit better now... Now, it’s people like civil servants, firefighters and nurses, who are forced to do it for up to twelve hours a day, while eating poorly, and sleeping on concrete.”

“That’s awful,” Zira sighed. “I shall have to pay more attention to where I buy shirts.”

“I _really_ thought Beez was my _friend_ ,” Crowley whispered. He felt hot, and faint, and bone tired. Tears prickled his eyes.

“I’ll get you some lemonade,” Zira whispered. “Stay there. Some water and sugar, and you’ll feel a little better.”

Crowley shook his head. “Just hold me, Angel? _Please_?”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: self esteem issues, brief mention of past injuries

Crowley painting was ahighly watchable sight, and so Zira allowed himself to watch, for a moment. Watch him pause and mix paint, with the moody intensity of a thunderstorm, then, make an unpredictably surge forward with a lightening-fast brush stroke.

Lord knew, what he was actually painting. Zira had no idea yet. It didn’t matter. He was thrilling, apocalyptic, and sexy as hell.

“Crowley, dear,” Zira said, his voice almost under control. “I know it’s terribly last minute, so it’s perfectly fine to refuse. But, if you would like, we have an appointment.”

Crowley turned and smiled, not at all like a god of thunder interrupted, but still _achingly_ desirable. “An appointment to do what?”

_Bedroom_! Zira almost said, but he was, at heart, a truth-teller, and so he pressed on. “Our application to adopt a dog was approved. And there was a last minute cancellation, and so I’ve taken an appointment to meet some dogs they think might suit us. As I said, it is last minute, and...”

“Yes please!” Crowley interrupted. His eyes suddenly huge. “We could get a dog, today? I’ve wanted a dog my whole life. Never allowed as a kid, and since then I’ve never lived anywhere that allowed pets. And, I could get a dog _today_?”

“Apparently home visits are required sometimes,” Zira replied, cautiously. “But I did send them a bunch of photos and videos of the house and yard, so perhaps that will do. In any case, we can certainly meet a dog today. If you’d like.”

“I should get ready!” Crowley murmured. “What should I wear? Something nice, yeah, to make up for the teeth... Oh! Perhaps I shouldn’t go. What if they won’t give me a dog, because it looks like I can’t even take care of my own teeth?”

“Oh, Crowley, they’ll think no such thing!”

Crowley shook his head. “I’ll wear my suit and tie. No actually, my tie is rubbish, I’ll steal one of yours, and my shiny shoes, and I’ll superglue my lips together. Do we have any superglue?”

Zira reached for Crowley’s hand. “I wouldn’t tell you if we did, my dear, because I am not sure you are joking! _Honestly_! By your logic, it will be me that scuppers our chances, as misplacing a limb is clearly far more careless than losing a few teeth. And, in any case, we’ll have Newt with us, and he is the complete set, minus a tonsil or two. You wear whatever is _comfortable_.”

“I’d like to wear the suit,” Crowley replied, not quite meeting Zira’s eyes. “Can I borrow a tie? And maybe some of those argyle socks of yours?”

Zira sighed. “Yes, _of course_ you may, dear.”

* * *

Watching Newt, Crowley, and a cheerful Labrador cross fooling around in the garden, Zira’s ear pricked at the sound of the door, but he quickly recognized the sound of Ana’s keys being tossed on the hall stand and the click of Ana’s heels on the floorboards. He reached for her preferred mug, and poured some of the freshly brewed tea.

“Did you get one?” Ana called, entering the kitchen. “Did we get a doggy?”

Zira nodded to the window “As you see! And, she is quite the sweetheart!”

“Oh!” Ana smiled. “She’s _lovely_! And so big! I thought you were getting a small dog...”

Zira handed Ana her mug. “Here you are, dear. And yes, a small dog was rather the plan. Being somewhat inexperienced, it seemed best. But, they thought this girl might suit us and so we met her... and Ana, I don’t think I’ve ever believed in love at first sight, but I would swear on my death bed that I saw it today. The moment Crowley saw her...”

“Big cartoon hearts shot out of his eyes?”

“Might as well have!” Zira agreed. “And, well that was probably it, that moment... but, she turned out to indeed be a sweetheart, and they think we’ll manage alright with her, even as first-timers.”

“I had a black lab when I was little,” Ana mused wistfully. “Minky Malone, I named her. She was the dearest girl. I dream about her sometimes, even now. Can remember just how silky her coat felt. And how stinky her breath got! How did Crowley get on with the shelter? Did he cope okay?”

“He was so anxious about being judged, Ana. It broke my heart. He didn’t even trust in his own socks. Borrowed mine.I do wish he would change his mind and let me pay to get his teeth done. He could have his implants started, and some temporary crowns on, in a matter of a few weeks... and I have money just sitting in the bank... Honestly Ana, it’s agony seeing him suffer unnecessarily.”

Ana leaned over and hugged a Zira’s shoulders. “I know it’s hard. But, try to look at the bright side. He has had a good day today. A good experience. A beautiful pup to love. That’s all for the good. Help him recover from that awful scene with Beez the other day.”

Zira felt himself flinch. He rather hoped Ana might have missed it, but it only took a glance to see that she hadn’t. “I’m not sure _I’ve_ recovered,” he admitted softly. “That thing Beez said about over-charging... in a way, she’s right..”

“Oh Zira, _no_!” Ana interrupted. “You were so badly hurt. You can’t think he deserves to get of with a slap on the wrist! I’m sure whatever the CPS decided is appropriate...”

“Oh, but it’s not, actually,” Aziraphale’s replied miserably. “And I knew it too. I didn’t think of it as over-charging, until Beez called it that but... the lady who called me, from the witness care unit, she told me that while he’d been charged with attempted murder that I probably shouldn’t expect a conviction for that. It’s a weird technicality apparently. They have to prove he actually intended to kill me. The weird thing is, if he had killed me they wouldn’t have to prove he intended to kill me to charge him with murder, but because I didn’t die, they do have to prove it to charge him with attempted murder. Isn’t that strange?”

“Oh Zira. I don’t know what to say...”

“And, apparently, the fact that he threatened me to silence, and... _inferences_ that might be drawn from aspects of my ‘injury pattern’, will likely be taken as evidence he may _not_ have _intended_ to kill me. So... attempted murder I’m told is... unlikely. it’s more likely to be something like ‘wounding with intend to cause grievous bodily harm’. Which is quite the mouthful really...huh. _Mouthful_. Ghastly choice of words, on my part, given...” he trailed off.

Ana sighed softly. “Zira, you might find it helpful to talk to someone. A therapist. Or me, as a friend. Newt? Crowley?”

“No. Not Crowley,” Zira sighed. “He feels so _guilty_ , already. And he reacted so _badly_ to the scar from... I can’t put him through it. I’ll think about the therapist, though. I’m... anxious about the possibility of having to testify. I don’t know how I can bear to. Having to say it all out loud. Explain it all to a room full of people. Swear before a court...before GOD... that I’ve got it all straight. Exactly what actually happened, when in my mind, it’s all so... I thought maybe a therapist could help with that.”

“I’d very much like to think they could,” Ana replied. 

Zira smiled as the dog leapt to catch a tricky throw and Crowley beamed at her. “But, that’s enough of that, anyway. It’s a happy day. A new family member.”

Ana grinned. “I must admit I brought home an extra steak, just in case. Do we have a name for her yet?”

Zira smiled. “She came with one. She knows it already, wags her tail whenever we say it, so we are sticking with it. Her name is Bentley.”

* * *

Zira set down his book, rested his glasses on top, and wiggled down into the bed, against Crowley’s back, needing to bend his leg a little to accommodate the snoozing pile of black fur at the bottom of the bed.

“Seems that some bed space has been annexed into the Kingdom of Bentley,” he observed.

A thick, black tail wagged sleepily twice at the sound of his voice. 

“ _Queendom_ of Bentley,” Crowley murmured sleepily. “I can put her on the floor. Should I put her on the floor?”

A silky black muzzle snaked its way up the bed, and pushed into Zira’s hand. “They say to start as you intend to continue,” Zira sighed. “And, I expect we _intend_ to spoil her rotten.”

“That’s the spirit!” Crowley said sleepily.

Zira recalled happily that Crowley had eaten noticeably at dinner, even if Zira had been constantly sneaking food to Bentley at his feet, in order to ensure Crowley wasn’t doing it.

Zira kissed Crowley’s neck and a soft snore was returned. He gently stroked Bentley’s muzzle until she was softly snoring too. The foot that wasn’t there burned, but not too badly, and the one that was felt the warmth of the sleeping dog. She’d been so vulnerable, alone in the world, just this morning. And now she was snoozing and loved, perhaps with the taste of steak still in her mouth.

There was something miraculous in that. Something beautiful. And it soothed Zira to sleep. 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Mention of a phobia, Crowley emotionally blackmails a plant, panic attack, minor injury

“Crowley, dear...”  
  


“Hmm....?” Crowley swung around from the _Trachelospermum_ bush he was side-eyeing. Zira was at the front door, balanced, a little unsurely,  on his prosthetic and a pair of crutches. He wasn’t _quite_ looking at Crowley, instead controlling his eyeline carefully, to help with balance.

Crowley found himself almost evenly split, between being pleased and terrified for Zira, at the sight. He tried to ready himself to sprint to catch him, but without either appearing to do so, or showing any of his anxiety. Newt had begun offering grim sermons about knee contracture and loss of muscle tone exacerbating arthritis. Apparently, Zira’s confidence in his damaged sense of balance was the current limiting factor.

Crowley settled on a smile, and a “Oh hey! Look at you!”, after what was only a slightly awkward pause.

“I was wondering if you’d seen Bentley’s _Lamby_ , dear,” Zira responded, eventually. “I can’t seem to find it, and I think she wants it. Also, I need to cancel either the audiologist or that psychologist appointment today. I was wondering which you thought would be better... I can’t quite decide...”

“I don’t think you should cancel _either_ ,” Crowley replied, concerned. “Why not both? Are you not feeling well? Bad pain day?”

Zira shook his head. “No, I feel quite well today, actually. It’s Bentley. It _seemed_ a good idea to schedule them one after the other. Save travel, and all that. But, we hadn’t Bentley, then, and it’s too long to leave her. It’s not fair, when she’s barely settled in. She’s not used to it, she’ll _fret_. Newt can’t take her, and Ana said she could take her to her office some days, but not _today_. She has a client with a phobia. And you have your mulch delivery at the nursery. So, that leaves me. I think she’ll be alright, alone, for one appointment, if I can find her _Lamby_ that is, and leave her some chews. But, I’ll be gone almost as long as you, if I’m doing both...”

Crowley smiled. “It’s alright. I’ll take her to the nursery with me. She’ll be fine on the Tube, the shelter said they’d trialed her on it, and she can hang out in my office, at the nursery. It will be fun, taking her to work, actually! Taking _my_ dog, to _my_ nursery, to hang in _my_ office! I like having a ‘ _my dog_ ’ to take places. I mean... I know she’s ‘ _our_ ’ dog...”

“...But, she’s also, very much, _your_ dog!” Zira finished, happily. “I _love_ how much she loves you. We have that in common, don’t we, Miss Bentley? Do you want to go with Daddy to the nursery? I shall definitely have to find you _Lamby_ to keep you company, won’t I?”

Crowley smirked. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll take the purple monkey. Purple monkey is her favourite, anyway...”

“ _Lamby_ is her favourite,” Zira replied, horrified. “Very clearly, so! Isn’t Daddy silly, Bentley? He should know _Lamby_ is your favourite... only, where has _Lamby_ got to? Let’s try the the sitting room. Perhaps behind the lounges? Were you and _Lamby_ playing behind the lounge?”

Zira made his way back inside, leaving Crowley to shake his head, and turn back to the _Trachelospermum_. “ _That’s_ the man you are going to disappoint, if you keep up this drooping. Are you okay with that? Really? You should be ashamed of yourself! Get your act together.”

* * *

  
  
Bentley loved the Tube. She soaked up loads of compliments, and subtle smiles from the other passengers. Moreover, Crowley noticed that the glares, and the nervous glances, he was becoming used to, since having his teeth knocked out, were markedly reduced by Bentley’s presence.  


One elderly woman even went so far as to _speak_ to him.

“It’s lovely that they smile, isn’t it?” she said, serenely. “Labs and Goldies. Best smiles for my money.” With permission, she ran Bentley’s silky ears between her fingers. “I’m too old, now, you see? Treasure her, lad. _Treasure_ her.”

Crowley wasn’t sure why, but the brief interaction nearly brought him to tears.

At the nursery, Bentley bounded around, giddily sniffing everything, bouncing in and out of the spray of the hoses, and even had to be warned off stealing a Gerbera. Afterward, however, she settled down, padding after Crowley, as he moved from one area to another, flopping down dramatically each time, as if she had walked miles rather than aisles.

Eventually, enough customers arrived that Crowley settled Bentley in the office, with _Lamby_ and a chew. She took this amiably enough, especially as Talia, who was working the indoor area and the till, snuck in, whenever she wasn’t busy, to teach Bentley to roll-over in exchange for the homemade treats Zira had packed.

“I’m not paying you to dog train,” Crowley called, cheerfully.

Talia smiled. “You should, but. ‘Cause, I’m awesome!”

Later, Bentley ate lunch with Crowley, by the pile of mulch bags he was shifting into the store room. Crowley gave her half of the sandwich Zira had made, in exchange for forcing himself to eat the rest.

Bentley looked like she enjoyed her half immensely, given it disappeared in mere seconds. “S’good trick you’ve got there, Bentley,” Crowley sighed. “You should teach me.”

  
  


In reply, she wiggled the top of her head into his hand, for a pat. 

“Yes, you are a good girl, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Good, _good_ girl.”

Bentley whined softly, and a moment later Crowley’s phone began to vibrate. At this time of day, it would normally be a supplier, but Crowley wasn’t expecting a call.

_Zira_.

He frowned.

“Hey, Angel. You okay? Bentley’s fine, don’t worr..”

“ _Hello? Is this Crowley? I mean, Mr Crowley, sorry..._”

It was a young female voice.

Crowley’s heart squeezed, Bentley whined, and gently head-butted his leg. “Yes... that’s me.”

“ _My name’s Yeo-jin. I’m with Zira, on Old Broad Street, and he’s alright, I think, don’t worry... but, he’s having a panic attack. I mean, I think it’s a panic attack, but I’m only a nursing student, but no one else stopped to help... and, I was going to call an ambulance, but he asked me not to, and I took his pulse and it seems alright, and he asked me to call you, and so, I thought you might know, if it was a panic attack, or if I should call an ambulance, or what?”_

Crowley took a breath. “Yeo-jin? Is it?”

“ _Yeo-jin, yes._ ”

“Yeo-jin, would you hand the phone to Zira for me, so I can see if he can talk to me?”

There was the soft static of a phone being jostled, an few inaudible words from the nursing student, and then Zira’s voice, trembling. “ _Crowley? I’m sorry._ ”

“Angel, what is it? Are you alright? What happened?” 

Zira gasped out an explanation slowly. “ _I’m afraid Yeo-jin is right. I’ve just worked myself into a state and... I got upset at the psychiatrist. Nothing happened but I... I just had to leave and I think I managed the paperwork cause they didn’t chase me, but I left my gloves there, and I think I went to fast, and I blistered my hands and then I got flustered and caught my fingers. And Crowley, the traffic... and I can’t get to the tube station. I was going to call a taxi, but my hands were shaking and I kept misdialing and that only made me more flustered. And nothing’s actually wrong except my fingers... it’s a fuss over nothing... only I... I can’t..._ ”

“Oh, Angel,” Crowley whispered. “It’s alright. Listen. Bentley and I are coming, okay? We’ll come to you, and get you safely home. Talia can manage here.”

“ _But, your mulch..._ ”

“Bugger the mulch, Angel! It can stay in a pile, until tomorrow. I’m coming, okay? That’s final. Can you put Yeo-Jin back on for me?”

There was another staticshuffle and then Yeo-jin. “ _Hello_?”

“Listen, Yeo-jin? First, I want to thank you for stopping. You don’t need to call and ambulance, but I’m going to come and get Zira. I’m not close by, I’m afraid and I understand if you can’t wait. But if you can wait with him, we’ll give you cab-fare to wherever you are headed, and call whatever nursing program you are in and praise you to the sky.”

“ _That’s alright. I can wait. My nursing program would want me to wait, I think._”

“Thank you,” Crowley finished sincerely, already jogging to the office, scooping up their bags, and Bentley’s lead, and _Lamby_.

“Talia?” he called, jamming his phone into his pocket, and clipping Bentley to her lead. “Can you manage the afternoon, and close up? If people want to leave, cause we are too busy, just _let_ them, and don’t worry about it. If they are rude to you, kick them out. And half-an-hour overtime pay for closing, yeah? Also, if you could run some safety tape to rope-off the mulch pallet? Just leave it, otherwise. And put a pair of gardening gloves on my account, please? I’m taking a pair with me...”

“Sure thing,” Talia said, nodding, her forehead creased, with each direction. “I hope everything’s okay...?”

“Everything’s fine,” Crowley murmured, rushing out the door. “I mean, it’s not fine enough that I’m not a dick for abandoning you, but... you know...”

“Okay,” Talia replied, rummaging for the safety tape. “Bye Bentley!”

“What am I?” Crowley replied. “Chopped liver?”

Talia shrugged. “Maybe. On a good day.”

Crowley decided she was assistant manager material.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Zira whispered again, as Crowley carefully applied plasters to the blisters he could access. The rest, on the fingers Zira had jammed, but insisted he hadn’t broken, were rolled up in a tea towel and ice pack.

“ _Now_ who won’t stop apologising, for a panic attack?” Crowley whispered, kissing Zira gently on the cheek.

“Oh, it’s different,” Zira sighed. “I should know better! Should know how to calm myself down and not...”

Zira hissed in pain at the application of the last plaster, cutting himself off. Bentley whined, and dropped a slightly saliva-moistened _Lamby_ in Zira’s lap. 

Zira gave _Lamby_ a long look, and sniffled. 

“It’s not your fault Angel,” Crowley murmured. “In fact, I’ll tell you whose fault it is. It’s _Ana’s_ fault! And, I’ll have a bone to pick with her when she turns up...”

“Crowley, don’t...”

Bentley’s ears pricked a warning, but Zira still flinched at the sound of the door.

Keys clinked on to the hall-stand, heels clicked on the floor.

Bentley’s tail wagged three times.

“Speak of the devil...” Crowley muttered.

“Zira?” Ana’s voice called.

“Don’t wag your tail at her, Bentley,” Crowley glowered. “I just said we had a bone to pick with her.” He then stalked towards the hallway. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you!”

Ana blinked at him. “Crowley! Is Zira here? Only, I got a text from Nicholas, and he said Zira seemed very upset when he met him today, and...”

“Of course he was upset!” Crowley roared. “Seriously?! What were you thinking?”

“Crowley, I don’t underst...”

“You don’t have any therapist friends who _aren’t_ 6foot one, white-haired men?”

“I... _oh_...!”

“Yeah!” Crowley shouted. “Did you do that on purpose? Was that some sort of fucked up aversion-therapy thing?”

Ana shook her head. “No! _Absolutely_ not! I’ve known Nicholas for years. I was focused on what a good match they’d be therapeutically. I only met Hastur once. I didn’t _remember_ him being tall. I... it was an _accident_ , Crowley. Carelessness on my part. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Crowley deflated The anger had snuck up on him, a silent wave, and it was retreating, just as quickly. “He had a panic attack. Lost his gloves, hurt his hands. I had to go find him. Push the wheelchair to help get him home. I’ve never done that before.”

“How did it go?” Ana asked softly.

“I was a little scared, actually,” Crowley admitted. “Curbs are... I’ve never even paid much attention to curbs, before I met Zira, but after today, Ana, I sort of want to annilate curbs, and salt the earth where they grow? It’s generational blood-feud material now, me and curbs.”

Ana shifted her weight. “Will you allow me to go explain to Zira? To apologise?”

“You are asking my permission? Why? That’s not like you...”

“Because, you are being protective,” Ana smiled. “And I... I think I like it, actually? _Little bit_ scary, having it directed at me, but overall, I like it. Can I please apologise to Zira? Convince him to give me another chance? With one of my much more waif-like colleagues?”

Crowley nodded softly and then felt like he needed to sit down. And so he did. Resting his head on his knees. 

A wet nose poked his ear. Crowley buried his face in soft black fur.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory **especially for the middle section (between line breaks)** description of graphic interpersonal violence. Fat-shaming, ableist, arguably non con.
> 
> Section can be skipped.
> 
> Other sections: references to disordered eating, family dysfunction

Crowley was stroking his hand. There was no impatience to it, not exactly, but Crowley wanted his attention. Because he wanted to leave.  


  
  


Zira stole a few more seconds by rolling his face into the pillow, but eventually turned back andmet Crowley’s eyes.  
  
  


“I have to go soon, Angel,” Crowley whispered, smiling down at him. “Can I get you anything, first? _Do_ anything? _Help you_ with anything?”

Zira shook his head. “No, I’m not hungry.”  
  


A little part of himself scolded that he was supposed to be modeling a healthy relationship with food. That he hadn’t even bothered to get up to make Crowley a sandwich.

Crowley didn’t seem angry or hurt, however, he just brushed a few strands of hair away from Zira’s face. His fingertips felt rough and wholesome. Zira bit back tears.

“I wish I could stay, Angel. I just can’t drop Talia in it, two days in a row. Frankly, I don’t pay her enough. Now, am I taking Bentley with me, or...?”

Zira froze and then hugged Bentley, currently snoozing in the Crowley-warmed half of the bed. He _did_ want her, but Crowley had assured him she’d had a ball at the nursery, and Zira honestly wasn’t sure if he’d be able to manage letting her in and out.

“I can’t take care of her,” he whispered, his plan to do so tearlessly was unsuccessful. “I can’t let her out to _go_... I’m too dizzy, and everything hurts, and my hands and... but, I _want_ her here with me...”

“I want her here with you too, frankly,” Crowley replied. “We’ll look at a dog door. How about, for today, I put out some newspaper... _as if we have newspaper who has newspaper?_... so, some old towels? And, I’ll clean up when I get back?”

Zira shook his head. “No, it’s not _fair_ to her. What if she’s stressed, not being able to do the right thing? And then, she suffers, and tries, and inevitably has an accident, and then feels ashamed, and terrified that we won’t love her any more, and that we’ll take her back and... and...”

“Was there an audiovisual society at your high school, Angel?” Crowley asked. “You weren’t Chief Projectionist, by any chance?”

“I’m _serious_ , Crowley!”

“I am too! Bentley won’t think any such thing. She knows you are hurting, that’s why she’s all snuggled up next to you...”

“She’s doing that because it’s warm...”

“And because you are tickling the base of her throat how she likes... you don’t even know you are doing it, do you? You do the same thing to me. Gently stroke my back and shoulders, without even thinking about it.And Bentley knows, just as well as I do, that we’ve struck gold with you. She’s going to be fine. I’ve brought you a lunchbox,and a water bottle.I suggest you put the lunchboxunder your pillow, so madam here doesn’t snatch it, the moment you nod off...”

“Best not put any chocolate in, in case she gets it anyway...” 

“... I will bring you home chocolates. From that snooty place. They will just have to tolerate my teeth and dirty fingernails, long enough to sell me champagne truffles and violet cremes. And I will feed them to you myself, heroically resisting all puppy-dog eyes from actual puppy-dogs. And tomorrow is Saturday, and Talia will have the high school kid to help her, so we can spend the whole day together. I just... I do _have_ to go. I’m putting your phone right here. Okay?”

Zira nodded. “Have a good day, dear...”

Crowley kissed his forehead. “Get some rest, Angel.”

* * *

Zira did sleep. Fitfully, and not deeply. Deeply enough for dreams, though, hands grasping him, blows failing. Spinning, dizzy nausea. Faceless doctors breaking news against his addled brain, over and over, as he tried to grasp the enormity of....

He woke then, throat tight, but was greeted Bentley’s by soft, brown eyes. He reached out gently, and stroked the worried shape of her eyebrows. The wings of her nostrils flared, she gave a muffled humpf, and her ludicrously pink tongue slipped out of her mouth and cautiously lapped his hand.

Zira sighed. “This won’t do at all, will it, dear girl? You want to go _outside_ , I know you do. You want to relieve yourself, stick your nose into the wind, and bask in the sun a little, while it’s still summer. And, why shouldn’t you? I promised to take care of you, and you must feel safe. Have your dignities, and your little joys. No... this won’t do!This pity party simply _must_ relocate, to by the back door.There’s nothing else for it. Simply a matter of logistics now...”

Zira considered. _Leg, good crutches, cheap crutches, iWalk, wheelchair_. He could do this. He _could_.

Crowley had tucked his midday pain pills into the lunch box. He slipped them deep into his pocket, well away from prying doggy noses. The sandwich, he reluctantly deemed expendable, even knowing it cost Crowley to make it for him. Having to prepare food. _Smell_ it. He forced a few bites into his mouth and stowed the rest. He reached for his leg and the cheap crutches.

There _was_ a bit of less-than-dignified crawling and scooting involved, at the end. But, Zira eventually got himself settled, on the floor by the back door, with a cushion, pillow, blanket, and phone. 

Sweet Bentley had made herself something of a satellite for the journey, somehow knowing not to get underfoot, yet not letting him out of her sight, either.Zira opened the french door for her from the floor, resting his back against the adjacent sun-warmed glass pane. She did bustle out, but once she’d relieved herself she immediately came back in and snuggled in next to him. 

“That must feel better, little one,” Zira murmured, stroking her shoulder blade. 

She panted for a moment as if to answer, then settled her head again. 

“Sweet girl,“ Zira whispered to her. “You lovely thing! I’m _sorry_ you had to wait for me to get my act together.... I’m... I’m a bit of a _mess_ , you see. I don’t want to talk about it, ever, but I must. I’ll be _compelled_ to, and perhaps, I even _need_ to. But, that doesn’t mean I know _how_ to. How to fit words around how one can be both completely terrified, and yet completely humiliated, all at once. How to explain that first burst of anger, when I saw him, when I shouted, but how quickly it faded, not a bit of useful _fight_ in it!

“And how _frightened_ I was, of his threats, of his size, of how strange his eyes were. How he knocked me over so easily. I felt like one of those bowling pins. Then he slammed down on me, knocked the wind out of me, knocked any _sense_ out of me, too. He was ranting about how I was one of _them_ , tearing away at me, searching for a hidden microphone, no... a wire...he said _a wire_. How he called my body soft. Ugly. How he laughed at how asymmetrical my leg muscles were. How he bit into me, like I was overripe fruit. 

“He started to beat me, Bentley. And, I thought he would kill me. How do I explain how I wanted to go quickly, die quickly, if I had to, but how I couldn’t not try to shield myself, anyway. Shield my belly, my head. How he seemed to be all in a frenzy, but, he also _wasn’t_ , because he stopped and made me uncurl. Pulled me out flat, before starting to hit me again. How he scolded me to stop crying. How can I explain _any of that,_ Bentley? I can’t... it makes no _sense_. But... but that’s what I _remember_. I know it doesn’t sound right, I know that I won’t be able to defend it. That some lawyer, some judge will pick it apart. That people listening will tilt their heads and squint. But, that’s the best I can... that’s the best I can get it all to fit, Bentley. Fit into _words_. That’s the best I have.”

Bentley sneezed, and then amiablytolerated Zira squeezing her tight. He breathed against her. Two times. Three. “Perhaps, Bentley, we can spare some phone battery to watch a movie, without unduly endangering ourselves. What do you think? Shall we watch orphaned geese learn how to fly? Two dogs and a cat traversing the Canadian wilderness? Or this one about a were-rabbit? We need something gentle I think, Bentley. Something gentle for us today.”

Newt stopped by during his lunch break and found them there, curled up on the floor, watching a piglet herd sheep with the last 10% of Zira’s phone battery. Newt called in sick for the rest of his shift.

* * *

  
Ana sighed. “You can be mad at me. You feel how you feel. It’s okay to be mad at me.”

“Bit hypocritical, isn’t it?” Crowley rubbed his eyes. “I did get him fired, lie to him for months, lead Hastur straight to him, and got arrested, leaving him to find out I was a criminal from the news...”

“From his _brother_ , actually,” Ana sighed. “His brother told him.”

Crowley pulled a face. “The asshole one? The one who abandoned him after he fell that time? Or the other one?”

“The other one. But, for the record, they are _both_ assholes.”

“How does that happen, do you reckon? How does a family produce an asshole, then another asshole, then a Zira?”

Ana shrugged. “Dunno, really...People react to the same family environment in different ways. You have golden children, scapegoats, and black sheep. You have those that lean in to the scripts forced on them, those that overreact against them, those that do everything to avoid them... Somehow or other, those three ended up trapped in a dance where Zira desperately fought for an acceptance that the other two equally desperately denied him, whatever he did. He could give them a kidney each and they’d still hate him. And, he’d still probably try, if they asked.”

Crowley shook his head. “Bloody... _families_ , eh?”

“He has you now, us, Bentley.”

“He slept on the floor today...”

Ana shrugged. “It’s _unusual_ , yeah. But I’m not as worried as Newt is. He had a reason. There’s difference between harmful, and the more benignly weird. We need to keep an eye on him, but that was true before today, as well.”

“I should still thank Newt for taking the afternoon off, though” Crowley replied. “I would have stayed home today myself, if I could have...”

“Free advice? I’d stay politely at a distance from Newt for a few days...”

Crowley flinched. “He blames this on me, does he?”

“Oh no!” Ana replied. “Nothing like that! He’s decided to train for triathlons, you see. Looking for a training partner. _Avoid_ at all costs.”

Crowley laughed. “I’m a bit surprised you aren’t letting me jump on that particular grenade for you!”

“If I weren’t worried about you replacing your restricted eating with over-exercising, I probably would push you on that grenade!”

“I keep telling you,” Crowley replied. “It’s not a body image thing...”

Ana patted him on the back. “And I’m telling you, I’m not risking it! You’re family now, kid.”

“Kid?! I’m older than you!”

Ana smiled mysteriously.

Crowley frowned. “Wait...Aren’t I?”

”Is it important to you that you are?”

”You’re doing that on purpose!” Crowley laughed, throwing a dishtowel at her. “Bloody... _therapists!!!_ ”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Sexual content, references to mental health issues, homophobia, references to ableism, classism,

“May I suck you off, please?”  
  


Crowley tried to keep a straight face, but failed. “My word, Angel, but your dirty talk is _something else_.”

Zira affected a pout. “May I, or may I not?”

Crowley kept giggling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Only, you talk in a _font_ , somehow, and it’s Copperplate.”

“Don’t apologise,” Zira replied, pleasantly. “I understand some couples forbid laughter in the bedroom, but I certainly can’t imagine it. Sex is, at its core, just a bit too _silly_ to always take seriously. But, my dear, you’ve not given me an answer, yet. May I....”

“Stop it!” Crowley moaned. “I’m supposed to me making _you_ happy...”

“... suck you off? It _does_ make me happy. Your hips are so pretty, my dear. Your pelvis! Such an inspiring view! And you make the most adorable little hissing noises, when you are trying to control yourself, trying not to thrust. I’m not sure there is a sexier sound, than those sweet little hisses. And, if there is a sexier sound, it’s the little ones that come later. The mewling pants, that melodic little moan, when you begin to see the stars. I fancy myself a conductor sometimes, and you an nervous orchestra...”

“Are you happy, Angel?”

Zira thrown off track, blinked. “What? Right now?”

“More generally....”

“That’s quite a confounding question,” Zira sighed. “At least one of us is _very bad_ at dirty talk, because we aren’t having the same conversation at all, are we?”

“I’m worried about you,” Crowley whispered. “I’m worried that you are pretending to be more okay than you really are...”

Zira sighed. “Well, I _am_ , rather. I think one is _supposed_ to? I’ve had multiple professionals, of various stripes, encourage me to ‘fake it until I make it’, in so many words. Anxiety, motivation, coping with a radically new life...”

Crowley flinched. “It’s slightly horrifying advice, isn’t it?”

“I suppose that how horrifying it is rather depends on whether it _works,_ or not...”

“ _Does_ it work?”

Zira shrugged. “Oh, I’ve no idea. Anyway, to return to a more pleasant topic, I would very much like to caress your frenulum with my tongue...”

“I’m always very happy to snog you, Angel.”

“I didn’t _mean_ either frenulum in your _mouth_ , my dear,” Zira sighed. “But, I shall take it...”

“Are you _still_ talking about sucking me off?”

“You could say I’m orally fixated! But, I’ve certainly no desire to _badger_ you into it. Is something wrong, dear?”

Crowley huffed. “We’ve gotten ourselves all tangled up, haven’t we? Too many words, I think. Can we start over? Hello, incredibly sexy love-of-my-life. How can I make you feel amazing, today?”

Zira’s face softened. “Love of your life? Really?”

“Yes, of course, _really_ ,” Crowley replied, almost genuinely frustrated. “Let me be absolutely clear on this. I’m in. I’m all in. I am the maximum amount of in.”

Zira smirked. “Oh well, that’s _definitely_ not true. There is absolutely an extent to which you could be more _in_ , at this moment. I am very happy to help you get to the maximum amount of _in_ , in very short order...”

  
  
  
Someone knocked on the front door.

“Oh, for the love of...”

  
  


“Let’s ignore it!” Zira purred.

“Yeah?”

“Well, yes! It’s Saturday morning. We might very well not be here. In bed, pawing at each other and... _oh_! You don’t think it’s Bentley, do you? That she got out of the yard?!”

Crowley’s brain was snagged a ways back. “You think Bentley got out of the yard, and... knocked on the front door?”

“No! That one of the neighbors knocked to alert us... or, oh you don’t think she went out on the road do you? What if she dug under the gate, ran on the road, andsomeone’s knocking to...?”

Crowley got up. “Nope! Stop thinking, right there. I’m getting up to check. I’m telling whoever it is to kindly get lost. And then, I’m coming back to see if one of us can stop yapping long enough to fuck the other one. Plan?”

Zira nodded, worriedly.

Crowley threw on a robe and walked toward the front door. 

Bentley was clearly visiblein the back yard, through the french doors. She was painstakingly extracting peanut butter mixed with kibble from a treat ball, like a bear working out honey from a hive. “Bentley’s fine,” Crowley called to Zira before opening the door.

He expected the snooty, balding man, on the other side of the door, to start selling him something, before he realised that he recognized him. On a ladder, trying to spray paint a glass etching. Standing next to Zira in staid family portraits.

“You’re one of the brothers,” Crowley said, stupidly.

“Yes,” the man drawled. “And you are one of the rent-boys. Are you the graffitiartist or the physiotherapist? I’m afraid I can’t recall...”

Crowley shook his head. “I’m Crowley. I’m the artist. And Newt isn’t... nor am _I_ , actually. A rent-boy. That’s... I’m Zira’s boyfriend. _Partner_.” 

“Right... You’re the _artist_. I honestly thought we’d have seen the last of you, once Zira threw his hissy fit and tried to cut ties to the company. But, clever you, I suppose,because it’s a deep well, and it’s not as through we’ve cut him off ent... Oh, _Good Lord_! What has happened to your _teeth_?!”

“They got knocked out,” Crowley hissed. “Now listen, Sandy, is it? Zira isn’t...”

“But, you can’t date my brother, and have teeth like that!” Sandy interrupted. “What will people _think_? Why on earth hasn’t he paid to have them fixed, if he’s determined to keep you?”

“He offered,” Crowley replied, feeling a weird urge to defend Zira now. “He needs to keep his money, for university...”

“Oh, for heavens sake,” Sandy muttered. “He can’t mean to go ahead with that, can he? Not with the ‘ _ain-bray amage-day’._ Oh, except _of course_ he is. Too stubborn for his own good, that one. Always has been, and we don’t have the sort of luck where _that_ part of his personality would get knocked out of his head. Still... I suppose if we get ahead of the story, we can spin it as _inspirational_. I’ll talk to PR. Your teeth, though. They _won’t_ do. Tell you what...”

Sandy paused, pulled out his wallet, and fished around for a business card. “Top oral surgeon, heavily involved in my church. He’s a _friend_. I’ll have him bill the family... Just make sure you look passable by October, would you? We’ve got the annual ‘do’ on then, and Zira’s presence is expected. And so, I suppose, we’d be expecting _your_ presence, as well.”

Crowley set his jaw. “I _very much_ doubt Zira is interested in whatever party you’d talking about...”

Sandy sighed. “There’s a way things are _done_. In this day and age, we can’t be seen to have ‘disappeared’ our aberrant, disabled brother. Shades of Rosemary Kennedy, and all that! It doesn’t _look_ right. But, if you are going to be a child about this, I will have to trouble you to allow me to talk to Zira directly.Is he here?”

“No,” Crowley lied.

“You were talking to someone before you answered the door.”

“Oh um...the dog,”

Sandy frowned. “What dog?”

“Oh! Her names Bentley! She’s a lab cross something or other. We got her from the shelter over on...”

“Shelter?” Sandy sighed. “I do _know_ people, you know. Champion breeders. I could have got you a _proper_ dog, if you’d only asked...”

Crowley’s smile froze. “We... will keep that in mind for next time. Thank you so much for dropping by, Sandy, but I won’t keep you! Will let Zira know...etc. ‘Kay thanks, bye!” _Slam_.

Crowley stomped back to the bedroom. 

Zira was holding the blanket up to his neck, for modesty, apparently expecting to be intruded upon by his horrible brother. “Sandy?”

Crowley shuddered. “He’s _got_ to be the bad one. I refuse to believe that there are two people, on this earth, who are that fucking aggravating. I was talking to him for what, two minutes? And in that time he managed to insult me, you, Newt, our relationship, my art, my teeth, your brain, and Bentley. He’s like a perpetual-motion insult-generating machine. I think he might break physics. Someone should alert Stockholm...”

Zira giggled. “Maybe we should alert CERN, instead. Have him put in the super-collider! They could accelerate him to near the speed of light, and slam him into Gabe really fast. Scientists could finally uncover evidence of the Complete Tosser Particle.”

Crowley laughed. “And smarm quarks. Don’t forget the smarm quarks.”

“Well, quite,” Zira purred. “Now, I believe we were discussing the possibility of you fucking me...”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Heavy gaslighting, ableism and homophobia. Emotional abuse. Oblique references to sexual assault and domestic violence.

After the third day, and the twelfth ignoredcall, it became apparent to Zira that Sandy was not going to stop calling. He reluctantly set aside his reading glasses and took the call, putting it on speaker, so he could still pat Bentley with his good hand.

“Hello, Sandy.”

“ _Zira! Thank heavens you’ve answered! I’ve been a wreck!_ ”

Zira blinked, sitting up straighter. “Is something wrong?”

Sandy sighed audibly. “ _Well, that’s what we’ve been desperate to talk to you about! Why haven’t you been answering your phone? Has he not been allowing you to_?”

“Sandy...what on earth are you talking about? No one else decides whether I answer by phone. I... I suppose I left the ringer off... I have been studying...”

“ _Oh, yes. This university pipe-dream of yours_.”

Zira rolled his eyes at Bentley, who yawned and smacked her lips. “It’s NOT a pipe-dream, Sandy. It’s a reality. I’m enrolled. I’m starting in a few weeks...”

“ _Zira, you should really let me look into this for you. A lot of these degree mills are just scams..._ ”

“...at King’s College! I start in a few weeks at King’s College.”

Sandy paused, fractionally. “ _And where have you found the money for that?_ ”

“From my shares!” Zira hissed. “You know this. I told you this. Crowley told you this.”

“ _I do not discuss money, with that Crowley fellow, Zira. I have no desire to render you even more vulnerable to his manipulations_.”

“I won’t listen to you speak about him like that...”

“ _But you must look at it from my point of view, Zira. I come to your house to check on you, to try and mend our family and he slams the door in my face!”_

Zira withdrew his hand from Bentley to massage his forehead. “Crowley can be very protective of me...”

“ _Jealous , I’d say. You should have seen his face, when I mentioned your relationship with the other one. The physiotherapist_.”

“Sandy, Newt is, and always has been, a wonderful friend...”

“ _Would you say you have to walk on eggshells around him_?”

“Eggshells? Around Newt?”

“ _No Zira! Around the violent, short-tempered criminal, who convinced you to sell your shares in the company, who convinced you to allow you into his home, a decision you made while you were in the hospital for brain damage. And, who is currently not permitting you to see your family_.”

“That’s not what...”

“ _I know you were there on Saturday, Zira. He wouldn’t let me see you_.”

“I didn’t want to see you. That’s why. He knew I wouldn’t want to...”

“ _So, he didn’t ask you? Just decided he knew what was best. Does he do that to you a lot, Zira? Just decide things on your behalf?_”

“I do not like what you are implying.” 

“ _Zira, I have to protect you! You are my brother. Now, think about this. It was one thing before... Look, let’s be real for a moment. My secretary has a gay brother, and I’ve discussed this with her. I know how superficial the gay dating scene can be! And, let’s face it... You are my brother and I love you, but, you are also a short, chubby cripple! So of course it isn’t easy..._”

Zira took a breath. “I am, actually, average height, Sandy, and please do not use that word...”

“ _Which? Chubby? Fine. Big-boned. But anyway, my point was, I know you’ve not much to offer except money. So, I’d previously thought, if you want to spoil these pretty men, so that they’ll spend time with you... well, it’s not for me to judge, is it? It’s between you and Jesus on Judgement Day, and, I certainly pray for his mercy for you. But, things are different now, Zira. I mean, you aren’t even getting sex out of the deal any more..._”

“I most certainly am!” Zira snapped. “I mean, I reject your premise. There is no deal. But, my sex life is perfectly lovely, thank you...”

_“But Zira! You’re brain damaged! Wheel-chair bound. You aren’t in a position to be... are you telling me these men are abusing you_?”

“No!” Zira shouted. “I’m saying nothing of the kind! Stop it. Just stop it.”

“ _Well, I’m very concerned, whatever you say. I insist on speaking to your neurologist to ensure that you have the capacity to..._”

“You will not!”

“ _Don’t be so emotional, Zira. I am trying to look out for you. All I want is to speak to an expert, to ensure you are safe. You are my brother. Is that really so unreasonable?_ ”

Zira felt himself begin to cry with fury. Bentley whined, concerned, and began to lick his elbow through his shirt. “But, you don’t even care! You’ve never cared. Not one bit. You want to speak to the neurologist now, but when I was in the hospital you didn’t come once!”

“ _You never asked me to, Zira,_ ” Sandy replied, still implacably calm. “ _I was giving you space. I’d have been there in a minute, if you’d asked, but you never did. It’s irrational to hold that against me now! Can’t you see that? I’m not sure you can. This is why I’m so worried about these decisions you’re making... this is just what I’m talking about_.”

“I shouldn’t have to ask!”

“ _Zira, but I’m not a mind reader, am I? I only ever want what’s best for you. But these reckless, silly decisions. Like this no good boyfriend. And selling your shares to go to university.._.”

“He’s a very good boyfriend. And, why can’t I go to university? You did, didn’t you? And Gabe? I want a degree...”

Sandy sighed. “ _Zira, of course I want you to have a degree, if you want one! I just don’t think it’s terribly realistic. But listen, I hear that you are determined to try, so I support you! There! See?! Only, you must give up on this silly idea of paying your own way. You need that money for your future, Zira. To pay for the care you’ll need. So, rather than throw away a semester or two’s tuition, please at least make use of the trust_?”

“Trust? What trust?”

“ _Why, the trust to pay for your education, of course. It’s just sitting here!_ ”

Zira’s chest tightened. “Sandy, never, in my life, has anyone mentioned the existence of any such trust to me, until just now. Just this moment!”

“ _Utter nonsense. You never were good with the financial side of things,”_ Sandy sighed. “ _I’d bring that up with your neurologist, too, but you’ve always been this way. Of course you have educational funds available!_”

“Sandy! I have discussed university with you dozens of times, over many years, and you have never, EVER, mentioned this before. Not one time!”

“ _Of course I have! Now, don’t worry, though, because I’ll take care of everything... Gabe is the trustee, of course, but best to use me as an intermediary, don’t you think? You know what it’s like, when the two of you get in a room together_.”

“I....” Zira tried to think but there was a horrible achy rush in his ears. “I.... I have to go. Good day, Sandy.”

“ _Zira. Now, listen..._ ”

“I said, Good Day!” zira shouted, hung up, and the fitfully hurled the phone across the room.

Bentley startled, scrambling to her feet, and Zira collapsed into tears. “Oh Bentley! I scared you! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m...”

Zira tried to calm himself, but he couldn’t. He just cried harder, sucking in great, tearful gasps of air. Bentley tried to scramble into his lap, but didn’t quite fit.

“Oh,Bentley! I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t.”

* * *

Crowley suspected there was something wrong, as soon as he got home.  


There were a few unanswered texts, but that might just mean an interesting book chapter or two.

  
More worryingly, there was no Bentley there to meet him, no wagging otter tail.

“Angel?” Crowley called, his pace quickening through the hallway.

He found them, almost at once, in the sitting room. A little pile of tearful, cream-coloured boyfriend, and fawning, jet-black hound, in a winged armchair.

“I broke my phone,” Zira whispered to him, eyes swollen, red and blue.

Crowley was confounded for a moment. “Is it just frozen again? Let me see. I’ll restart it for you.”

Zira shook his head. “No! I broke it. I threw it. I’m a person who throws things. I never used to be a person who throws things. I’m not ME, anymore.”

_Not about the phone! Switch gears!_

“Candy crush can be really annoying...” Crowley tried, gently. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Zira sniffed. “Sandy called.”

“Oh, well, there you go! You’re only human. What did that wind-bag say?”

“He said that he was worried about me, and wanted to make sure I was safe, and that there might be family funds to help me with university,” Zira sobbed. “Except, he didn’t really mean any of that, that’s just what he said. He really said that I was stupid, and broken, and that you don’t really love me, and that I’m too incompetent to run my own life. He just talks and talks, and I can’t keep up with the wrongness, and it gives me a headache, and... and I hung up, and threw my phone, because my brain is... because, I’m not _me_.”

Bentley whined, and stared intently at Crowley as Zira sobbed. Her expression somehow, very clearly, begged that he _fix this_.  
  


Crowley took a breath, sat down on the arm of Zira’s chair. Next, he gently extracted Bentley, who slinked a few feet away and curled up in a tight circle, like a cat.

Having made room for himself, Crowley shimmied into the chair, and levered Zira into his lap, and held him, fiercely.

“Listen to me, Angel. Really listen. See if you can get all the anxiety howler monkeys in your head to shut the fuck up, so you can really, really, hear me. I do love you. I’m not just saying that, I’m not mistaken, I’m not cluelessly ignorant of the real you, who I would actually hate. I see you. I know you. I love you. This Zira, the one in my arms, right now. The one who got righteously angry today, and who threw one thing at an insensate wall.”

Zira dropped into his embrace. “But, I’m not the man you met, anymore...”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Crowley whispered. “I don’t know that I believe in much. But, I think there’s a core of us, an unchangeable, intangible part, deep down. And, I think that I love you that deeply. But the point is, whether I’m right about that part of things or not, Angel, I love you more, each day. Your life has gotten harder, I know, and it isn’t fair. But, it doesn’t make me love you less. It doesn’t wear me out, or make me sick of you. If anything, I’m sick of the world. I want to tear it down to rubble, and rebuild it again, to suit you better. Make it in your image. Because you are the great, golden heart, at the centre of my world. And, I can highly recommend that as a state of being.”

Zira nuzzled his chest. “But I’m missing bits, and my brain is addled.”

“I love your bits, and I love your brain,” Crowley replied, kissing Zira’s skull for emphasis.

“But, I’m a disgrace to my family name.”

Crowley shrugged. “Fuck your family name. You don’t want it, anyway. Marry me, and have mine. We can be shimmering, chaotic Crowleys, together.”

Zira froze against his chest, and sought Crowley’s eyes, his own wide and blue. So blue.“Anthony Crowley! You did not just propose to me while I’m miserable, and my face is puffy, red, covered in ...phlegm.”

“ _Phlegm_!” Crowley mocked, gently. “Okay, fair enough. But, I will. Soon. One day, very soon, when you are feeling handsome, and amazing, I am going to propose to you. And I hope you say yes. And, if you do say yes, you can name yourself whatever you want.”

“Really?”

Crowley kissed him. “Really, really.”

“No, but... _really_?”

Crowley growled. “Stop it! Or, I’m locking in the phlegm proposal, and you are going to be stuck telling that story for the rest of your life. What do you think, Bentley?”

Bentley raised her head and cautiously wagged her tail.

  
  


Crowley smiled. ”Uh oh! Bentley votes for the phlegm proposal. You really need my vote now.”

Zira smiled back. “Very well. I’ll be good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to quickly thank everybody who has left kudos and comments when they can. It really helps me maintain the courage to keep posting.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Homophobia, reference to cancer

Crowley stared insistently at his phone, to avoid the stares from the tables around him. Not to mention the stares from the _staff_.

_Just pull out the torches and pitchforks already, fuckers!_

Gabe was _definitely_ late _on purpose_.

It was the staff that was getting his goat the most, actually. Crowley doubted that they made any more money than he did, and yet here they were, sneering at him for wandering into space belonging to their mutual “betters.” He gave serious thought to climbing onto a table and giving a quick lecture on _The Conquest of Bread,_ while lobbing bread rolls at the other diners.

But, there was a decent chance this was what they all expected of him. A decent chance that was even _why_ Gabe was late.

Eventually, the man in question arrived, strode over, somehow sat down aggressively- Crowley almost asked if the chair had wronged him in a former life- and smoothed out his tie.

“A meeting ran long,” Gabe announced, very plainly as an explanation, but _not_ an apology. “I can’t _wait_ to find out what this meeting is about, though. What do you want? Does Zira know you are here?”

Zira _didn’t_ , and that fact made Crowley squirm uncomfortably. Gabe would not have missed it. 

A waiter bustled over, menus clutched unprofessionally close to her chest, as if armor against Crowley’s poverty. Gabe took his without thanking her. Crowley did thank her, but felt somehow false and ostentatious doing so. Having to eat in front of these people felt like torture. He could only hope it was the type of bullshit-posh restaurant that specializes in _tiny portions_.

Gabe stared at the menu. “Well? What do you want?”

Crowley shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe a sandwich?”

Unexpectedly, Gabe chuckled. “What do you want _to see me_ for? Is this some sort of shakedown? Do you want me to pay you to stay away from my brother? Come on. Out with it.”

Crowley sighed. “I do want a favour, actually.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Out with it, then!”

“I want you to keep Sandy away from Zira. I understand you might need _some_ line of communication. This stupid party in October, and such nonsense. But... Sandy is bad for Zira. So, don’t use him as an intermediary. Use me.”

Gabe looked him in the eye for the first time. “And, why would I trust you to do that?”

“Because, if I’m bad at it, you’ll go back to using Sandy. And I need Sandy away from Zira. Zira is in... a tough place. He needs his strength right now. His course starts next month, and...”

“Course?” Gabe frowned. “Course of _what_?”

Crowley hissed. “You pair are unbelievable! His _university_ course. It’s been his dream for years! Why can’t either of you be, even casually, supportive?”

Gabe threw up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it! What’s he going to study?”

“Ancient History,” Crowley replied, uncertainly. 

“That sounds about right,” Gabe remarked. “Good for him. Hope it goes well.”

“I...” Crowley exhaled, more than a little flummoxed. “Did Sandy _actually_ not tell you?”

Gabe peered. “Why would _I_ talk to _Sandy_ about _Zira_? Those two have been aligned against me, for years...”

It was truly unfortunate that Crowley had picked that exact moment to take a sip of water. Choking and coughing ensued, and felt so close to vomiting that Crowley found himself breathing deeply behind a crisp, white napkin, not at all sure whether or not he was about to embarrass himself by hurling all over the table.

“Are you alright?” Gabe asked, not quite solicitously. He had gone from ignoring Crowley to regarding him with a strange detached interest. It did not feel like an improvement.

“Zira is not _aligned_ with Sandy,” Crowley said, when he could talk again. “The only reason he talks to Sandy and not you is that....”

... _is that Sandy tells him to. And that he’s fucking terrified to you_.

Gabe paused. “Mr Crowley, is it? Setting aside Zira’s highly questionable involvement with... well...with you, and your vandalism, Sandy has been trying to seize control of the board, for years, a campaign that was much advanced when Zira sold Sandy the entirety of his shares in Eastern Gate, upsetting a _very fragile_ power structure...”

“But... Zira doesn’t care about any of that! He just wanted the money to pay his university fees...”

“That seems unlikely, Mr Crowley.There is already a trust fund in place, specifically to cover...”

Crowley took note. “So there _is_ a family trust?”

Gabe laughed. “Oh, I’m not even talking about _The Family Trust_. That’s a different animal, entirely. I’m talking about a small trust, set up by my father, to cover Sandy and Zira’s expenses getting settled in life. He had all three of us quite late in life, you see...and because of certain tax codes... oh... why am I bothering? Do you know what a trust is?”

“Something rich tossers use to cheat on taxes?”

To Crowley’s surprise Gabe laughed again. “Apart from that, it’s a way for rich tossers to give their kids money, with _strings_ attached. Even strings reaching from beyond the grave...

”...So, we have the main family trust. Big arse trust. Law firm trustees. Big time. Established by my grandfather- Zira’s grandfather. He doesn’t want his heirs to be spoiled, so to access the trust, there are _strings_...   


“...To access your share you have to either earn serve four years in the army, or be married and over thirty. And look, to be fair to Zira, I think he got screwed there. I thought a medical discharge from the service, should have _counted_ , especially under the circumstances... but anyway. Not my main point...  


“...Now, my father- our father- has children, late in life and years apart, so, in the mid nineties, he’s dying, and still has two teenagers.19 year old Sandy, and 14 year old Zira.

“So Sandy, you wouldn’t know it with his holier than thou a act _now_...but back _then!_ Back then, 19 year old Sandy got no A levels, is coked out of his head 24 hours a day,and is fucking a different girl every time we turn around. And then Zira. Zira is 14, swotty as fuck, wetter than a mermaid’s fanny, and very clearly gay. No gays in the military, back then, no gay marriage. No path for Zira to qualify for the main trust...”

“... My father, you see, had plenty of faults and didn’t like _any_ of his children, but he did _love_ us. All of us. So he sets up a much smaller trust, with his own funds, with me as trustee. This trust is set up as a sort of catch-all... a locked in principal, producing interest for two main tasks, cleaning up Sandy’s act, yes, but more importantly, as a way to pay for Zira’s education, and then to leave Zira with an income. So, as you can imagine, the terms heavily favour Zira. Teenage Sandy _heavily_ resented this. Only more so, when gays were allowed into the military, and gay marriage became a thing. I can only assume that he got Zira to boycott this money out of a misplaced sense of fairness. But once Zira does this Sandy, being Sandy, then turns around and pockets the whole profit every year. But, even though Sandy screwed him over, who does wet, little Zira sell his shares to? In my humble opinion, Mr Crowley, that pair deserve each other. No offense.”

“Some taken, actually!” Crowley snapped. “You’ve been letting Sandy flat out steal from Zira, since he was a child. A child who was not only your brother, but who your father literally entrusted you to care for, and you are criticizing _him_?”

Gabe shrugged. “I was 26 years old, and my father was being eaten alive by cancer, and I was being thrust into a leadership role for a global company. I had more important things to worry about, than whatever reindeer games Sandy was playing, with some pokey little trust. And as for Zira, all he ever did was _whine_ about how he didn’t like boarding school, and how everyone there was _mean_ to him. Like a child!”

“He _was_ a child!”

“Like a _much younger_ child,” Gabe replied flatly. “I didn’t have the time. Look... are we done here? Do we actually have to eat lunch? Because frankly, I’m not sure how much I can stomach, opposite those teeth of yours. You want my blessing to ignore Sandy? You have it. You want me to pay for this Ancient History thing? Fine. Email invoices to my P.A.We done?”

Crowley sighed. “Yeah... I think we are.”

* * *

Crowley pounced on Newt the moment he got home. “So! Triathlons! _Fun_! All that running... swimming and... and a third thing! Bikes! Is it bikes? Fun! Let’s do those three things! Friend!”

“What do you want, Crowley?”

“Who says I want anything?”

Newt poured himself a glass of water. “Well, you don’t want _to do triathlons_ , that’s certain. And yet, here we are... So, what DO you want?”

Crowley wilted. “ _Help_! I need just... help! I stuck an oar in, and immediately capsized myself, into the lake. Only, the lake is lava...”

Newt sipped his water.

“...Lava! Help! Lava!”

“What did you _do_?”

Crowley sighed. “I just thought... I thought I could fix _just one thing_! You saw how badly talking to Sandy affected Zira, the other day. So, I thought, why do we even need him as a go between between Zira and his family? I thought... I can do it! I’ll go see Gabe, I’ll say to just call me directly, because I don’t care what those douchenozzles think of me. And they can be awful to me, instead of being awful to Zira, and at least I’ve fixed _one thing_. Right?”

Newt took another sip of water. “So, what happened?”

Crowley sighed. “I... it... Gabe wasn’t what I expected.”

“Because you were kind of expecting a cartoon duck, in a top-hat, who swims in his tower of money?”

“No! But... _yeah_? Kinda? Anyway. I think Sandy is playing Zira and Gabe against each other. And plotting some dumb company thing, I don’t care about, and stealing from Zira, which I _do_ care about. And also I think I accidentally now know more about Zira’s financial situation than Zira does, and I’ve got to tell him all this. Only it turns out, I’ve done this huge thing, behind his back, when I only meant to do a little, tiny thing, behind his back. And it occurs to me, albeit belatedly, that I shouldn’t really do _anything_ behind his back. And worse, I sort of proposed to him the other day, and given something I found out, that looks really bad now, and...And I thought... _help me_? Help me, and I will triathlon as much as you want.”

Newt took a sip of water.

“Newt... _Newt_... you aren’t saying anything! Can you start saying things? Even if it’s the yelling things?”

“It’s a lot, Crowley. Give me a minute.”

Crowley rapped his fingers.

Newt sipped water. “Okay. Here it is. Ready? Tell him everything. Right now.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep.That’s it. Maybe leave out the metaphor where you are rowing crew on a volcano? Is that what it was? But the rest of it... just... tell him. You were trying to help. You stumbled on shit. That’s fine. It happens. You’re good.”

* * *

Zira’s face wasn’t doing anything. Crowley was almost obsessively trying to read it, but there was nothing _there_. Nothing to read. 

“Explain it to me again?” 

Crowley nodded and tried. It became clear halfway through, however, that Zira wasn’t really listening. “Angel... are you alright..?”

“I’m starting to really dislike money,” Zira replied softly. “My dear, those grand books you read? Chomsky, Kropotkin, Marx. Is there a way to do it? To get rid of money and just... _take care of people_... just...” he trailed off.

“I’m not sure we’ve quite cracked that particular problem, Angel,” Crowley sighed. “At least not...”

Crowley hugged Zira, but it felt strange. Like Zira wasn’t quite there. 


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: brief description of previous severe injury; systemic ableism; internalized ableism

“Big day, tomorrow,” Crowley whispered, sliding into bed, pressing his chest against Zira’s back, sliding his hands down its surface. Working knots. Zira’s back was _always_ a collection of sore spots, tense and tender, but Crowley found himself wondering if the pattern had changed. Zira seemed to carry himself so _differently_ , the last few days.

Zira smiled, not _falsely_ , but not _fully_. Not rising to the level of his eyes. “Yes, my dear. Rather terrifying...” Then, he checked himself. “...Exciting.”

“I got you a present,” Crowley whispered, handing over a gift bag.

Inside was a insulated lunch bag, printed with a somehow hilarious, close-up selfie of Crowley himself and Bentley, both mugging at the camera.

“Oh, I adore it!” Zira sighed. The smile did reach his eyes then, but not unchanged. It turned somehow sad. “How you must loathe the idea of this lunchbox, my dear! You _hate_ being photographed, _seen_ , _committed_ to a moment. And yet, you knew how I would love it. How much I would love to carry you both with me.”

“I _am_ with you,” Crowley whispered. “I’m here for you, I’m right behind you. I will help you. I have your back. I’m _proud_ of you.”

Zira’s eyes flicked closed. “I don’t think I deserve you.”

Zira had said it lightly, but still _that_ sentence, of all sentences, that phrase, _those_ words, were an icy chill to Crowley’s reptilian brain. The wrongness of it. The backwardness.

_Picture your anxieties as a knot in your chest,_ his therapist said. _One you can reach in and slide out of your chest, to examine._

Crowley pictured an egg. Inside it, a dragon. A hatch-line slowly appearing on the smooth, ovoid surface.

“You’ll be fine, Angel. You _will_. I don’t know anybody more suited to this. And tomorrow will be nothing. It will be professors you don’t care about yet, reciting their bio’s. It will be swots asking endless questions about the grading system. _Maybe_ a little bit of completely obvious context. What history is. What counts as ancient. You couldn’t mess up if you tried.”

“But, what about my twenty-six stage plan to get in with the cool kids?” It was Zira doing an impression of himself, an impression of himself as happy, joking, _fine_.

Crowley hated it. Wanted to scratch off the veneer, inspect and soothe the rawness underneath.

_Not now. Not tonight. Why tonight, of all times? Be silly! Make low effort jokes about shagging astudent!_

But, he couldn’t. Crowley never could sleep next to an unexploded bomb, no matter how long was left on the timer.

“Angel... This money stuff... Your brothers...”

Zira sighed, fussily. “I shall send the invoice for my course, my receipt, to Gabe’s personal assistant, as instructed. And see if I am reimbursed. If I am, we shall fix your teeth, and then I might... Do you know how much I hate showering sitting down? I’ve no idea why it bothers me, a shower-chair, of all things. I could _say_ that it’s dangerous, transferring into it, one-legged, in and out. On a wet floor. And it _is_. I’ve fallen _dozens_ of times... Fractured my tail bone, more than once. Developed that bursa. But honestly? Deep down? It’s more that I _hate_ it...

“...Before that accident, I showered in the morning. And after, they told me I should shower in the evening. That the hot water would make my ‘residual limb’ swell. Make it harder to get my socket to fit. I think it was only supposed to be when I was new... but, I still do it...?   


“...I’m supposed to have gotten a shower leg. I’m _entitled_ to one. But, it never seems to... I’ve never quite managed to make it happen....  


“...I wanted to _stand up_ in the shower. In the _morning_. I’d always done that, and... then I _couldn’t_. And...it’s the stuff like that, that... it’s not the _first_ thing that goes through your head, when you see your leg crushed under a forklift, I can tell you that. You don’t think... ‘oh no! But I really like standing in the shower, showering in the morning’, but eventually, for me at least, it was things like that...”

Crowley swallowed. His voice was raspy. He’s forgotten, in the last minute how to talk. His tongue was too wide, too floppy. “Okay. So, you said a shower leg was a thing? So, we _get_ one! That’s... we do that...”

Zira sighed. “It might not be wise. My balance isn’t so great yet, but... yes. I think, after we get your teeth so you are happy, I might just... _buy_ one. Maybe then... maybe, when you’ve got your teeth fixed, and I’ve got something I’ve always... maybe _then,_ this whole business with the money, it might not be so... _upsetting_. Maybe _then,_ I’ll be able to think clearly, and not be quite so stuck on...

“... I got medically discharged from the army, and, it was a shock. I mean,I _was_ lucky, in a way. I never meant for the army to be my whole life. And, I know some people that get medically discharged did expect the army to be their life, and the shock, it’s so _awful_ for them... to just get... _thrown out_ like that... But, even though I didn’t mind so much, it _was_ a shock... It was something about my mental state... I thought I was all right.. doing _well_... I was certainly trying, very hard, to be all right. But, I suppose I alarmed some psychologist and... so, _unexpected_....

“...And then, it took ages for them to get proper paperwork to the NHS. So, I was in this limbo. And, there were all these little expenses... you don’t think about the _consumables_. All the liners, all the socks you need to carry around to add during the day, the suspension sheaths that stop working when these tiny little holes develop. And, not really knowing, yet, how comfortable you are even supposed to _be_. What’s _normal_ , what’s just your life, now. What’s fixable, what isn’t. What’s hurting you. And, there are crutches, and ramps, and handrails. And, it’s there two, huge bureaucracies you are stuck between...

“....And... Sandy lent me money for this little thing, and for that, and I was so _grateful_. For the little silicon discs, for the handrails. And, it was my money the whole time! And... I know how you feel about the validity of rich people, my dear... but... the money as much mine as it was Sandy’s, is what I meant...

“...And that’s what I can’t... all those _hours_ on the phone to Veteran’s Affairs, to the NHS, trying to chase up this and that. When I was so _tired_ all the time, and so _overwhelmed_ , and so... so _scared_... and I thought my brother was helping me but... it turns out, he wasn’t. And, I can’t see the forest for the trees, I think. I don’t know what to do, because I am just so... so _angry_ about the stupid handrails that I can’t... _think_!”

  
  


The baby dragon, imagined to life in Crowley’s chest, flexed slowly in its shell. “Angel... I... let me help you. Let _someone_ help you. Talk to someone. Get ready to...”

  
  


“To what?” Zira sighed. “Sic lawyers, and accountants, on my family?  
Loudly demand the sort of wealth that the person I love most doesn’t think should belong to _anyone_?  
Marry you, which you so beautifully suggested as a way to escape my family for good, only it turns out it will bind me to them even more tightly?  
Subvert my grandfathers casual bigotry, and come into my inheritance?  
Through a loophole that is only possible, because, that _casual_ bigotry never _conceived_ of people like us ever being _allowed_ to marry...?

“...Every option before me is so _inconceivable_ , so _beneath_ how I would wish to conduct myself. _Including_ inaction, mind you. I find myself quite expertly trapped, my dear. But, also, I find myself sorry, because you gave me a beautiful gift, and you got an angry rant in reply... I just... I don’t _know_.”

“Then, I’ll hold you,” Crowley replied. “I won’t allow myself to fall asleep, until you do. And, we’ll wake up with you, Bentley and I. Take you on the train with us. Drop you off, at some fancy, sandstone building in The Strand, kiss you goodbye... go on to work. And, later tomorrow, I’ll make you dinner. Whatever you want. I’ll figure it out, even if it involves wrestling live lobsters, or flambé of a soufflé. And, I’ll hold you _tomorrow night_ , too. And, the rest of this can just... _wait._ Until you are ready. Nothing is more important than... well... than _you_.”

Zira exhaled softly. “You’ll swell my head, dear.” But, he sounded defeated.

Bentley whined and pawed at the bedspread.

Crowley mobilised himself, with all he had, the thinnest thread of energy. He soothed them both, his Zira, his Bentley, with caresses and soft whispers. He let his tears fall unseen in the dark room. He imagined compressing that dragon egg sitting in his chest below his heart.  


Compressing it to stone.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Vomiting, disordered eating, medical complications, hospital scene.

There were a lot of bags of potting mix, and they were _heavy_.

When Crowley paused a fraction too long, Talia sidled up to him. “I can finish that...”

Crowley shook his head. “Nah... I got it... I think that they’ve started putting bricks in these, though. They never _USED_ to be this heavy... You’d think, with all this fucking _jogging,_ I’m doing with Newt I’d be finding this easier not harder...”

Talia made a noise at the back of her throat. “Actually, though? Could I finish that, while you check the computer? Some of the... African violets are scanning at the wrong price sometimes...it’s weird? But, not _every_ time, so you might have to scan more than a couple to...”

“Talia, what are you doing?”

“Just... could you check for me? It’s annoying AF, and I’d rather move the potting mix anyway. I want arms like Michelle.”

“Michelle who?”

“I think it’s usually the pink violets that don’t scan right, but it was a purple one one time, so check those too..?”

Crowley gave up, and wandered in the direction of the African violet display, almost entirely pinks and purples. After three steps, nausea overtook him and he vomited abruptly, then staggered to the ground, seeing stars.

“Oh _shit_...!” He heard Talia exclaim.

Crowley assumed he’d smashed up a bonsai pot or something, but, when he followed Talia’s eyes, she was looking at what he had vomited.

Crowley squinted at it. There shouldn’t have been _anything_ in it... had he thrown up on some spilled dirt?

“That’s digested _blood_ ,” Talia breathed. “Looks like coffee grounds...”

Crowley shook his head, which made him retch again. This time mucous, with bright red blood in it.

“Boss, you’ve got to go to the hospital,” Talia said, flatly.

Crowley stared. “No... I’m _fine._ I think just...”

“I’m calling Zira,” Talia announced, shaking her head, and reaching for her phone.

“ _No_! Talia, _DONT_ call Zira... I’ll go to A&E... just, don’t call Zira...”

Talia hesitated. “I’m calling you an Uber.”

Crowley shook his head, “ _Come on_... don’t make me throw up in some sap’s car... I’ll take the bus...”

“Fine! Then, I’m calling an ambulance...” Talia shot back.

“Talia, please... just _calm down_ a little, will you...? Come on! I’m sure it’s _nothing_... I’m...”

“Don’t you dare say you are fine!” Talia shouted suddenly. “I can’t watch you do this to yourself any more! I can’t...”

Crowley stared.

Talia stared back, tearful. “You are taking an Uber to the hospital now. I will get you a plastic bag to spew more blood into, but you are going straight there, _now_!”

Crowley closed his eyes. “But... Bentley...”

“I’ll call Newt,” Talia sighed. “He’ll pick her up. He’s got her car harness in his car.”

Crowley was mystified. “Why do you have all these people’s numbers, Talia? Why do you know where Bentley’s car harness is?”

Talia didn’t seem to want to answer. But she did. “Because of this, Crowley. Because of something like this.”

* * *

Things weren’t going great at the hospital, if Crowley was honest. The doctors were insisting that Crowley needed an endoscopy, but... being sedated... a camera being forced into his mouth into his throat... well, it _wasn’t happening_.

At the moment, they were puttering around with various xrays and CT scans and blood work, nagging him about his history, his diet, his stool, how much he drank, over and over. Crowley suspected they were just waiting for him to throw up blood again, so they could _insist_ on the endoscope. Crowley employed every trick he knew to keep his gorge from rising, and waited for them to get bored with him.

The problem was that it was getting late, and soon he would have to call Zira, and come up with an excuse for _why_ he was late. Going out for a drink with a old mate seemed like the simplest, although it would have to be someone Zira didn’tknow too much about. Ligur maybe...

He put the finishing touches on the story on the way back from the CT to the mini waiting-room in the back of the A & E, where they kept stowing him between procedures. But, when he reached the little collection of plastic chairs, his heart plummeted.

Zira, pale and with red-rimmed eyes, was sitting in one of the chairs.

Crowley’s first thought was this was some sort of ghastly _coincidence_. That Zira was hurt, and wound up _here_ because Crowley had fallen afoul of some trickster god.

But, when Zira looked up and saw him, he did not look surprised at all. Only profoundly sad. “My dear, I’m so sorry,” he said, raw-voiced, as Crowley flopped into the seat next to him. “I wasn’t paying enough attention. I got caught up in my own nonsense.” 

Crowley knew he should soothe Zira, and apologise for not calling him. But his tongue refused. “Talia?”

“Please don’t be mad at her,” Zira whispered. “It’s my fault. I literally _begged_ her to call me if you ever...”

Someone in blue scrubs wondered over. “Mr Crowley? I just need to pop you in a bay and take another blood sample.”

Crowley grimaced. “You can’t be _too_ worried about me bleeding internally, if you are willing to suck quite so much out of my veins. Can I bring Zira with me, at least?”

“Actually, I was hoping he might stay here and get started on some paperwork?” the woman replied, blandly. “We’ll only be a tick.” She handed a clipboard, and black biro, to Zira, who reached for them eagerly, but Crowley did not miss that his right hand was shaking, that he flexed his fingers before taking the pen, that he held it awkwardly.

“I’ll do the paperwork,” Crowley muttered.

“Your boyfriend will get started...” Blue Scrubs insisted, and maneuvered Crowley to a distant curtained bay.

“I’m pretty sure I filled out that form, already, anyway,” Crowley told Blue Scrubs grumpily.

“Hmm,” she replied noncommittally, and was seemingly in no hurry to take his blood. “How are things at home, by the way?”

_Small talk_ , Crowley assumed, and rambled something in reply about how he was working on the gardens. Told a story about Bentley  helping him dig holes.

Blue Scrubs did not respond as expected. “And, you feel safe there? At home?”

_Not_ small talk then, Crowley thought, belatedly realizing what was actually happening, and why Zira had been left to struggle with pens in the plastic chair bay.

Crowley started to laugh drily. “I’m sorry. _Sorry_. Not laughing at you. Just... it’s a good thing you are doing. Keep doing it, keep asking, but... it’s funny to me because you’ve got things so wrong here, you’ve got them almost backward.”

Blue Scrubs’ face stayed inscrutable. “Can you tell me what you mean?”

“I mean, the teeth wasn’t _him_. This isn’t... I don’t have an eating disorder because my boyfriend is abusing me. I don’t even have an eating disorder... I’m just... a picky eater. And Zira would never hurt me. He didn’t do any of his. But me? I’d never hurt him either, not _on purpose._ But _,_ the fact he can’t use his right hand properly- and now he’s trying to fill out a form after taking lecture notes all day? And the fact he can’t hear out of one ear? That’s... that’s on me. So yeah. You’ve got it _backwards_. You want me out of his life, not vice-versa.”

“He’s not my patient right now,” Blue Scrubs replied, serenely. 

She did eventually take blood, and now Zira had passed her rudimentary ‘good person’ test, she brought him into the bay and attempted to aggressively recruit him to ‘Team Get-an-Endoscopy!’.

  
  


Crowley dug in his heels, and threatened to leave AMA.  


Zira started to cry, but kept insisting he wasn’t.  
  


Eventually, at a stalemate, Blue Scrubs agreed to schedule him an outpatient endoscopy, at the Chelsea hospital closer to home, for the following morning, and discharge him with something called a proton pump inhibitor. All this, provided that some level in the last blood draw was the same as the previous ones, or something, and as long as Zira promised to call an ambulance if this happened or that, and promised to get him to that appointment tomorrow.

Zira promised.  
  


Crowley insisted he wouldn’t go, although it was starting to become clear he would.

Zira promised _again_ , his face strangely blank, and carried out a quiet text conversation with Ana, while they waited on that blood cell count. 

They went home in a taxi, because Zira had ‘opinions’ about Uber.

Newt had indeed picked up Bentley from the nursery, and she met them at the door.

Crowley held her, and apologized for disappearing on her. 

Bentley wagged her tail happily, even though Zira was, again, sniffling softly.

“Let’s go to bed,” Crowley said, at last.

“Did you take those pills?” Zira asked, because the ‘proton pump inhibitor’ had turned out to be pills, and not the weird gadget it sounded like.

“Yeah, I did,” Crowley replied.

“But, _did you,_ though?” Zira asked. “Did you really? Promise me!”

Crowley nodded, but then he walked off in the direction of the bedroom, without waiting. 


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Crowley gets some diagnoses, reference to past violence. 
> 
> They fight and are mean to each other and I hate it! But that’s what happens...
> 
> Personal note: Because I am yet to figure out either tumblr or the tumblr app, I missed seeing a lovely drawing that someone sent me relating to this story a few weeks ago. And I’m really sorry! You know who you are and just... agh! I’m sorry.

Zira stared at yet another slammed door. He couldn’t hear sounds of vomiting, and he tried to take comfort in that.

It was _hard,_ though.

The scary sounding words, _Mallory Weiss syndrome,_ fluttered about in his head.

The doctor had been hard to read. _Often gets better on its own_ , he’d said. _Might well in this case. If..._

If Crowley stopped vomiting, basically. 

_If_.

‘If’ meant that Zira was going to have to open that slammed door. ‘If’ meant a conversation he really didn’t want to have.

He’d already dithered long enough to make himself a cup of tea, because he knew he would have to be _very calm_.

He didn’t _feel_ very calm.

But, he was going to _BE_ very calm, anyway.

Zira knocked, but did not wait for an answer to open the door.

Crowley was on the bed, lying on his back, shading his eyes with his hand, as if the room was bright. The room _wasn’t_ bright.

“Crowley, dear...”

“Not now!”

Zira took a breath calmly. And replied. Calmly. “Now.”

Crowley growled. “Okay, fine! _Ask_! You’ve been _dying_ to ask, for hours. You’ve been hopping from one foot to the other, _dying_ to _ask_ , and for obvious reasons, that’s not the best choice for you. So just. Fucking. Ask.”

Zira took a breath _calmly_. “Thank you. Now, my dear, I couldn’t help but notice that you said to the doctor that your psychiatrist _did_ diagnose an eating disorder, but, you have always maintained to me that you _don’t_ have an eating disorder. I need to know if you lied to the doctor, or if you lied to me. I’m not angry, but I need to know.”

“Neither!” Crowley snapped. “I didn’t lie. Yes, I was _diagnosed_ , but, I _don’t_ have an eating disorder. It’s a _bullshit_ diagnosis. _OSFED_ , possibly Alfred-type, or Aphid-type, or some shit. It’s not an actual _thing_. That’s not _me,_ anyway.”

Zira took a breath. _Calmly_. “ARFID,” he replied, carefully. “Aphids are little bugs. It would be ARFID.”

“ _It would be_ bullshit! And, of course, YOU would know. I suppose you’ve been researching eating disorders for fucking months?”

Zira had, in fact, been researching eating disorders for months. “Okay...well, regardless. The point is, you _do_ have oesophageal tears... these _Mallory Weiss_ tears. We saw a picture of them. And so, you have to stop vomiting. You have to keep taking the proton pump inhibitor for the acid, and, you have to take these wafer things, to reduce nausea...”

“I’m don’t like taking pills, and I am _definitively_ not taking the anti-nausea wafers! _Wafers_?! And, those are made for people on chemotherapy, for fuck’s sake! Talk about an overreaction... so _no_. No pills... I’m not a person who takes pills.”

Zira took a breath.... calmly. “I AM a person who takes pills, and I know it’s hard to get used to. But, there’s nothing wrong with it. They will help you be well. Feel better. Please... I _need_ you to take them, and I would like to talk a little more about this OSFED diagnosis. About ARFID.”

“Oh would you now? Well, that’s fucking hypocritical, isn’t it? _I’d_ like to talk about when your leg got flattened like a pancake! _I’d_ like to talk about exactly why Hastur bit you and what happened right after.But, you don’t give a shit about what I want to talk about, do you? No!And that’s how it’s always going to be. I don’t get to demand _you_ be vulnerable. _You_ get your dignity, and your privacy, and your vanity degree, while I get... I get prison, and a mouth full of broken teeth, and you whining, and wincing, and limping around, and poking into MY FUCKING BUSINESS!”

Zira lost his calm at once,like letting go ofa helium balloon. He later found it almost funny, the mental image of his carefully inflated calm floating away. A blue balloon with a long string. He later laughed, until he cried.

But, at that moment, along with losing his calm, he also lost his ability to _talk_. He couldn’t _say_ anything.Literally couldn’t _speak_.

They stared at each other. For  Crowley, Zira supposed, it was a battle of wills. But Zira felt literally frozen, turned to stone. 

After a while, Crowley rolled toward the wall. Refused to look at him. And, perhaps that was a battle of wills, as well. For _Crowley_.  


But Zira couldn’t _move_. Couldn’t even think, really. It felt strange. His mind spooling down, like a spent wind-up toy.

  
  


Eventually, Zira sat down where he was. _Ungracefully_. He almost fell. There was an unintentional thud, and it made Zira flinch. He hadn’t _meant_ to communicate a thud.

Crowley humphed, but did not turn around. 

It was silent for a while. 

Zira tried to say things, but his brain was still unwound, clumsy. It couldn’t _quite_ get itself together. It was not unlike how his right hand felt these days. When he was tired. 

Suddenly, in a burst of frenetic energy, Crowley leapt up from the bed. “I’m taking Bentley for a walk,” he muttered, not looking at Zira, as he strode out of the room.

He was out the front door long before Zira could had gotten to his feet, if he’d tried.

Zira _didn’t_ try.

* * *

“Zira, tea. Drink it.” Ana placed the mug firmly in his hands.

“It’s too _late_ for tea,” Zira murmured, he was acutely aware of what time it was, because Crowley and Bentley had not come back.

“It’s herbal, Sweet. Lavender. _Drink_ it. You’ll feel better.”

Zira drank a mouthful. It was a little colder than he liked, but this was lucky, because he would have burnt his mouth if it hadn’t been.

“Do you think he left?” Zira asked, taking a second sip. “ _Left_ left, I mean. Took Bentley and just... left me?”

Ana sighed. “No, I don’t. I think he probably wanted to come back _hours_ ago, but, he knows he made a fucking scene and he’s embarrassed, and so he’s taking his sweet-arse time. _That’s_ what I think.”

“He left me alone in the house. Without Bentley,” Zira replied, softly.

Ana exhaled loudly through her nose. “That... that wasn’t thoughtful. Are you alright?”

Zira sighed. “Honestly? I was a wreck. Jumping every time a floor board creaked, or the fridge switched on. I hid away from the windows. Like a little child. What good was hiding like that even supposed to _do_?”

“Zira. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. You did fine.” 

“I _didn’t_ do fine though, did I? He literally _left_. I wanted to be supportive, but instead, I... chased him away...”

“Zira, you did your best...”

Zira sniffed. “No. I should have done better. The silent treatment is manipulative and juvenile. _Everyone_ knows that...”

“That wasn’t what you were _doing_ , though. You weren’t _trying_ to make him feel bad, you were... in shock a little, I think. Zira, I’m sure Crowley fees awful about how that conversation went. Or, if he doesn’t yet, he will when he’s ready. I think today was a shock for _him_ , too. I don’t think he really _realised_ he was sick. You did your best. Maybe you should go to bed... I’ll wait up for...”

Zira shook his head. “No. No, I can’t have him think that I didn’t care enough to wait up. I _have_ to wait up. He already thinks I don’t treat him as an equal. That I spent the money I should have spent on his teeth, on a _vanity degree_...”

“Did he SAY that’s what he thought?”

“Yes! He said... oh, I don’t remember _exactly_. But, that was the gist of it, certainly. Among other things. So... I must wait up. If he comes back, he will see that I’ve waited up.”

Ana sighed, clearly about to say more, but then the front door clicked, and Bentley’s claws scrabbled on the hall floorboards.

  
  


Bentley appeared first, skittering over for a head scratch, and then immediately turning to her water bowl and lapping dramatically.

  
She was thirsty, and that made Zira suddenly very angry. He tried to catch his breathing, but could hear it shuddering.

  
  


Ana was looking at him closely.

  
Crowley appeared next.

He was wearing sunglasses and so, his eyes were unreadable. “I...said the wrong things. I got angry. I went for a walk. Then, I got too embarrassed to come home. So, I went to an off-license, and got beer. Then, I drank it. Then, I was too embarrassed to come home _drunk_. And so I sobered up in the park...”

  
”Did the off-license sell water?” Zira asked, tightly.

  
  


Crowley looked confused for a moment but then looked over to Bentley, still lapping like she’s stumbled upon a desert oasis.  
  


Crowley started to cry. “There’s a water station at the park... I would have taken her if she was thirsty...you... you KNOW, I would have.”

  
  


Zira felt his chest tighten. He _did_ know, really. Knew it was a cruel thing to say the moment he’d said it. It was something Sandy would say. And it had made Crowley cry.

Zira wished Bentley would stop lapping, mitigate his mistake, but she seemed to have settled in. She got like that sometimes. Zira kept careful track, and had a list of over-hydration symptoms taped to the fridge.

  
  


Zira took a breath, calmly.

  
  


”I need you to take the tablets and the nausea wavers,” he said, quietly.

  
  


Crowley nodded, but didn’t say anything. He still had his sunglasses on.

  
  


”Maybe take a wafer now, if you’ve drunk enough you are likely to vomit.” Zira added.

  
  


Crowley nodded. “I um... yeah. I will. And... listen... my shrink suggested some sort of exposure-therapy-deal, with different food textures, and... I said no, but... I’m going to do it. I’ll say yes...”

  
  


“That’s good,” Zira managed to get out. He hated how cold his voice sounded, so he tried harder. “I think that could help. It’s important.”

  
  


“Would you like me to make you a sandwich, Crowley?” Ana asked carefully.

  
  


”No, thanks” Crowley answered, before something about his expression shifted. “I mean... yes. Sandwich. Yes, please.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: dissociation, **graphic** and upsetting description of past fatal accident and severe injuries, discussion of ableism/bullying, reference to eating disorders and illness, bleakness.

_I said the wrong things...._

Crowley bleakly pondered the phrase, as he gradually took apart the sandwich and forced it behind his lips, between his teeth, and down his damaged throat.  


Why did it have to be a sandwich? Why did Ana have to offer a sandwich, of all things?

Sandwiches were a torture to eat slowly. It was always a race to get bread out of his mouth before it turned into cloying, soggy, sickly sweet mush. 

But he was committed to this sandwich. Because he said the wrong things.

And because he could have died yesterday.

He was sick and he could have died yesterday.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Zira. Zira’s face was TOO MUCH. Too much stimulation. Instant sensory overload. He looked around it, but not at it. Zira’s face was the sun.

Because, Crowley had said the wrong things.

The _wrong_ things. The things Crowley didn’t even believe...

_I don’t. Do I?_

... and yet, the wrong things were right _there_. Already ripe. Ready to be plucked. Hurled. _Spat_.

He’d said then aloud, instead of pruning them from his mind.

He had thrown them in Zira’s face.

The sandwich was finally pummeled to submission into Crowley’s stomach. Ana had put his medicines in a little glass tumbler, and set it beside its twin, filled with water.

Crowley took the medicine hoping it would do its work, and keep the sandwich subdued. Keep it from uprising.

Ana had left them, after making the sandwich and the little kitchen was silent.

  
  


Agonisingly silent. The silence of a tomb. Of unbridgeable distance.

  
  


“Zira, the things I said...”

“Please, dear... we are both so tired,” Zira interrupted. “I am, and _surely_ you must be. The sun set on this argument hours ago. And so, can we ignore the old saw, just this once, and sleep? Talk... after the sleep.”

“But, I need to... no. No, alright. Yes. Talk tomorrow. But um... where do you want me to sleep?”

He couldn’t look at Zira’s face, so he didn’t know what it did.

Zira’s voice turned hesitant. Small.“Well... you mustn’t sleep alone. You could start haemorrhaging internally again, in the night, need help quickly, and find yourself with limited time and strength to alert someone. I suppose it needn’t be me... I could ask Ana or Newt, if that would be more comfortable for..”

“You. I want _you_. I thought you wouldn’t want me.”

“Then, plainly, you should sleep in your bed,” Zira replied.

Crowley followed him into the bedroom. Zira searched through a draw for a moment before pulling out a whistle.

Why on earth would Zira own a whistle? Crowley wondered.

If Crowley hadn’t _said the wrong things_ , he would have asked why Zira owned a whistle. And, no doubt, he would have gotten some delightfully peculiar response in return.Zira falling in love with it in an antique shop because of how it caught the light. Zira being gifted it by a retiring army mentor. Some long dead toff relative training beagles with it. 

  
  
  
But Crowley _had_ said the wrong things. There would be no story. No laughing. No soft smiles.

  
  


Zira laid the whistle on the bedside table on Crowley’s side. “Another option, for if you need to wake me quickly, and you are maybe too short of breath to shout. You should put your phone there too, with the volume up. Queue up a loud song. And remember, it’s my right ear that works...”

Crowley nodded numbly.

He didn’t think he was going to sleep. Zira was, though. Zira _did_. The slump of his shoulders showed he was too tired not to.

Crowley lay in the dark.

_I could have died_

_I said the wrong things_

A duet.

After a while, unguarded in sleep, Zira rolled into him. Nestled.

That was when Crowley could cry again.

_I’m sorry_ , he whispered, over and over. 

Like those tapes from the 80’s, and early 90’s. 

Learn French, while you sleep!

Quit smoking, while you sleep!

Learn your boyfriend is sorry for weaponising every weak point you have, while you sleep!

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._

Bentley whined in her sleep and snored.

Crowley felt like he’d never sleep again.  


But he did.

* * *

When Crowley woke, it was well into the day. Zira should have been at university, but instead he was in the bed beside him, still in his pyjamas, reading something or other.

“Good morning.” Crowley said, awkwardly.

“Good afternoon,” Zira replied with a small tight smile. “Everything’s alright. The nursery is staffed, a fellow student is taking some notes for me, and my lecturers have forgiven my absence. You can sleep more, if you’d like...”

Crowley pulled himself up. Zira wasn’t quite looking at him either. “What are you reading?”

“ _Trying_ to read,” Zira replied. “Honestly, I’m struggling. I can’t get into it today. Aeneas and Turnus can both hurl themselves into Mount Vesuvius, for all I care. But, I must finish reading it today or I’ll risk falling behind.”

“I could read it for you,” Crowley whispered. “I’ll do all the voices...”

Zira sighed. “There’s no need to lend such personal support to a venture you abhor. I’m sure there’s an audiobook available, and it’s a good idea actually. I think I’ve finally found some headphones that get on with my hearing aids... and it wouldn’t be cheating. It’s not like just watching the movie...”

“Zira....I’m _sorry_...”

Zira interrupted him with a short, smart hum. “Let me be clear. You can’t speak to me like that. You might think that I’m not vulnerable around you, with you. But you are _wrong_. I might not show it, but... I trusted you. Even when I had no reason to. I won’t be a cliche, Crowley. And, how I grew up... I had a childhood, of being put down for things I can’t help. Of being _shamed_ for things that shouldn’t be _shameful_. I can’t go backward. I’d rather be alone, than live like that. I will not... _can not_ allow you to speak to me like that ever...on a normal day....  


“...But... I don’t think yesterday was a normal day for you, my dear. I think, yesterday, the very way you see yourself in the world changed. How you relate to your body. I think yesterday you understood that you were ill, really ill. And that you will be, for a long time. That you’ll never _quite_ be the same. And... that’s not a normal day. I’ve had a few days like that in my life. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t... at least a little... _understand_...”

“But, I bet you weren’t like me,” Crowley whispered. “I bet you were cheerful, and stoic, and unfailingly polite to the nurses. You wouldn’t have hurled rotten fruit and spat fire.”

Zira paused. “After the accident you mean? I remember that I wanted to appear _brave_. I couldn’t BE brave, mind you, I was terrified. But, the forklift driver was dying, a yard or two away, you see. Poor thing hit his head as he tried to jump clear, and half his body was... how did you put it so sensitively, yesterday? _Pancaked_? And he was confused, because he hit is head, but not confused enough, so he knew. And he was screaming. And, it was awful. The kind of awful that snaps your reason. And, I was terrified, but also grateful I wasn’t him. And I wanted him to be quiet, because the screams were so hard to hear, it was so hard to think. and I was shocked and angry and grateful and mean, all at once, and so, I decided I wanted to look brave. And everyone there seemed to like that. That was easy to look at, I suppose. And surprisingly easy to do. And also awful, because who the hell was I, to think I was better than some child dying horribly, 3600 miles from home? But I was easier to look at, and so people were pleased with me.”

Crowley sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh, me neither!” Zira replied with a small smile. “Was that better for you, though? Was I _vulnerable_ enough for you? I might have to work up to talking about Hastur. How would you feel about a puppet show?”

“Zira... I’m _sorry_.”

“I know you are, my dear. And I’m trying, in my way. I am. And, I know you are too. But I’m not ready to hear your apology, yet. I _think_ I understand, and I _think_ I forgive you. But I don’t _feel_ it yet. I want to, but I don’t. I need... time to talk myself into it. So... please, don’t apologise, yet. Get well, and apologise then. Apologise when you can mean it, and when I can hear it. When we are both ready. For now... I... I don’t know. We’ll manage. We’ll think of something.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Dissociation, references to eating disorders and medical complications, flashbacks, PTSD symptoms, interpersonal conflict, internalized ableism.

Over the next few days, Crowley began to paint dragons. Writhing, giant serpents with blood-tinged feathered wings, and mournful, ancient eyes.

  
  


“You don’t really think of dragons having feathers, do you? It’s always bat-wings.” Newt muttered to Zira, in the kitchen. “You realise he painted that last one literally onto the wall?”

  
  


Zira shrugged. “That room needed painting, anyway. It’s the _moulting_ that confounds me! You think of these stories, of dragons with their impenetrable armour of scales. How it takes a mighty weapon wielded by a hero to bring them down. And then, you imagine a dragon with a bleeding pinfeather...”

“So, we are fine with him painting on the walls?”

  
  


“Yes,” Zira sighed. “He lives here, doesn’t he? That studio is his space. Also... he had an _awful_ day, I’m given to understand. He saw that dietician again, and they broke it to him that he’s probably a bad candidate for those dental implants he wants. At least, until he gets his nutrition under control. Poor nutrition makes him an anaesthetic risk, puts him at risk of infection, and poor bone healing, and they think he’ll struggle to find someone who will do it.”

  
  


Newt nodded. “And, in Crowley’s head , losing the teeth is what started it all... that’s a bitter pill. Fine, the terrifying doom-lizard mural can stay.”

  
  


Zira glanced in the direction of Crowley’s studio. “He’s not used to it, yet. How one health problem sets off another health problem. How each new condition cuts you off from _options_. How getting back to health starts to feel like pushing sand uphill. He hasn’t really faced this before.”

  
  


“Yeah,” Newt agreed, softly. “Never mind all that, though. He’ll work through it. How about you? How is that essay going?”

  
  


Zira shrugged. “Oh, it’s done. I _think_ it’s fine? I’m sure I’ll spend the next week fussing with it, to not much effect... but it’s more or less done.”

  
  


“Well done, you!” Newt replied heartily. “I must say I thought you’d be more relieved to have it off your plate...”

  
  


“Oh, I am. All that research screen-time was doing a number on me. It’s just...I’m not sure anymore that I’m doing the right thing, going through with this: I... was so determined to go, after... Hastur. To not let that stop me, not when I was so close after all that time. I think I let that determination get in the way of practicality a little bit. I could just finish out the semester and.... are you angry? Newt, you look _angry_...”

  
  


Newt cleared his throat. “Zira, I’m not angry. But this has been your dream for _years,_ and I would like you to explain to me _properly_ , why you’ve changed your mind. And, explain it without using the words ‘vanity degree’. ”

  
  


“It will be a _bit_ hard to not say the word ‘degree’, Newton. What am I supposed to call it?”

  
  


“You KNOW what I mean, Zira. What is this? Tell me the truth, or if you won’t at least tell yourself the truth. What’s happening?”

  
  


“Nothing. Nothing’s _happening_. I... I’m just thinking about it, that’s all. Anyway, I might take Bentley down to the dog park... it will be 5, by the time we would arrive, and her friend Clover will be there. They play fetch together, and it’s so sweet. They see each other multiple times a week, but still greet each other, every time, with such _joy_. Like they’ve been lost to each other for years.”

  
  


Newt looked mildly put out by Zira dodging his question. But, the man believed deeply in exercise, and so gambit worked, and Zira escaped the conversation, and the house. 

Before leaving, Zira opened a few windows, in case Crowley cracked open one of his more oppressive oil paint solvents. “We’re off to the park,” Zira said to Crowley. “Bentley and I.”

Crowley spun around from his painting and looked at Zira with a terrible, sad intensity. But, after a moment, he simply said “Alright. Have a good time,” and turned back to his painting.

Zira didn’t realise what the look had meant, that Crowley was silently begging for an invitation to join them, until he was half way down the next street. 

Too late too turn back, _surely_ , as it would confuse and distress Bentley.

  
  


Bentley delighted in the dog park. She pulled the lead, ever so gently, in the correct direction, and grew progressively more excited as they got closer, her tail lifting higher, and wagging more strongly. Catching sight of the park, and perhaps of Clover within it, she yelped with excitement. 

Were it Crowley on the other end of the lead, she would have dragged him there. But, unwilling to drag Zira, she restrained herself to whining, and to doing a little tapping-dance with her front paws as Zira fussed with the gate and unclipped her harness.

Released, she bounded off, at once. With Crowley, she would have waited for a command, but then, she didn’t tend to come when Crowley called, she made him chase her. Whereas with Zira, she came by the second call at most.

  
  


“It’s amazing how they read us, isn’t it?” he remarked to Clover’s owner, who was bouncing her preschooler on her hip. “How much they manage to understand, even when we’ve no ears and no tail...”

  
  


“I have a tail! I have a tail!” the preschooler interrupted, loudly.

“Do you, indeed?” Zira asked, politely.

“I do, and it’s fluffy, and it’s RED RED RED, and it’s a dinosaur tail, because, I’m a dinosaur! And when I grow up, I’m going to be big, and I’m going to eat all of the grown ups, except my mums, and that means you too! Even the metal bits!”

  
  


The child’s mother turned rather red, herself, at this announcement.

  
  


“What about my bones?!” Zira exclaimed incredulously, to rescue her from her mortification . “Will you eat those too?!”

“Yup!” The sociopathic little moppet answered, with a sweet, wide smile. “Dinosaurs are _good_ at crunching bones.”

“They are, indeed. Does Clover like bones, too? Surely, you won’t eat _Clover_?”

  
  


“Of course not! Clover’s my _friend_. But I can’t share your bones with her, cause she’s not _allowed_ bones, cause one got stuck in her throat, and she needed an _operation_. Lexa, she’s in the Panda Room, and she had an _operation_ too. But not cause she ate bones. She ate a _pendix_ ”

  
  


The conversation went on for a while, in this vein. Zira watched Bentley and Clover chase the ball, with half an eye. Clover’s mother threw the ball and seemingly enjoyed, very much, that someone ELSE was talking to her four-year-old, for a while.

  
  


Eventually, Clover, along with her owner and her dinosaur had to leave for dinner. Zira lingered, letting Bentley circle the park, and sniff everything she wished to sniff.

  
  


She’s worked her way almost around the fenced area when Zira saw him.

_Him_.

  
Across the park, holding a shopping bag. Tall, blemished, and hollow-eyed. In a pale coat, too heavy for the weather.

  
  


_It’s not him. It’s not._ Zira told himself. _Remember that psychiatrist friend of Ana’s. What a fool you made of yourself! AND you don’t have your glasses..._

The figure, looked right at Zira, and smiled...Slowly raised a pale hand.

Bentley trotted over, and whined at Zira’s feet.

_It’s not him. It’s not._

  
  


The figure was watching Bentley. Then he looked squarely back at Zira, reached into his shopping bag, and slowly withdrew a plastic bag full of sausages. Held it up, for Zira could see, and kept smiling that hollow-eyed smile. 

_It’s not him it’s not him._

  
  


There was a limit to how fast Zira’s hands could replace Bentley’s harness, a limit to how quickly his prosthetic leg would allow him to move.

  
  


And, those limits felt far from _fast enough_.

  
  


_it’s not him it cant be him because you can’t move fast enough for if it’s him and if it’s him..._

Unable to help himself, Zira risked a glance back. The figure wasn’t following him. But he _was_ still staring them. Watching them. Still _smiling_. 

  
  


Bentley looked up at Zira, her eyes huge, her tail low. Zira moved faster.

* * *

“I’ll call the police,” Newt insisted.

“And, say _what_? That a tall man flashed his groceries at me? I’ll sound _unhinged_.” Zira tried to pretend he wasn’t crying, although he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t usually embarrassed to have Newt see him cry. He’d have died from embarrassment, years ago, otherwise.

  
  


Crowley and Ana had taken Newt’s car, to drive by the dog park.

  
  


Zira expected them back, any minute, to say that the man wasn’t Hastur, and actually looked _nothing_ like him. Maybe it even _WAS_ Ana’s psychiatrist friend. Maybe that was why he waved. Maybe he freaked out because a friend of Ana’s had good manners and liked sausages.

”I’ve made a fool of myself,” Zira muttered. “At least, Clover was gone, by then. I’d hate it if she couldn’t be friends with Bentley any more.”

  
  


Newt rubbed his eyebrows. “I’m sure that Clover would understand... even if she weren’t, you know... _a dog_...”

  
  


“I meant her owner, Newton! If her owner thought I was unstable, she’d avoid us at the park... and...”

“... and Bentley would play with the dog of someone who isn’t an arsehole,” Newt finished. “Plenty of... dogs in the sea.... dogfish in the sea? Are dogfish a thing?”

“I think they are a type of shark. I don’t really _want_ Bentley playing with sharks. Sharks are only after one thing.”

“She could chase cat fish...”

“Whatever makes her happy,” Zira sighed. “Oh, Newt. It wasn’t _him_ , was it? _Of course_ , it wasn’t. Why would Hastur come to this part of London, and go to a butcher, on the off chance I went to the dog park? It’s ludicrous. _I’m_ ludicrous.”

“Of course you aren’t! It’s totally, _totally_ normal to...”

At that moment, Ana texted a photo of the dog park.

  
It was empty. Whoever it was, was gone.

  
  


Newt reached for Zira’s shoulder. “I’m sorry we couldn’t clear this up, Zira. Why don’t you go have a lie down? I’ll bring you some tea later.”

It was a good idea. Zira had hurt himself rushing home, and he knew it. But he was back up immediately Ana and Crowley arrived back home, ignoring blisters and irritation, he knew it was unwise to ignore.

  
  


Zira paused before entering the kitchen, and heard Newt, through the mostly closed door.  
  


“You couldn’t call Beez, could you? See if she’ll let slip if Hastur has been sculking around...”

”We aren’t speaking,” Crowley replied, heavily. “And, even if we were, she would never tell me. Never ‘rat him out’. I think we should call Gabe...”

“Why?” Newt spluttered. “What is _that_ tosser going to do?”

“He had _me_ investigated, didnt he? Maybe he’ll be willing to investigate Hastur. Have him followed? Maybe catch him breaking his bail conditions?”

“But why would he even help? He doesn’t give a shit about Zira. Or anything else which isn’t money.”

Crowley sighed. “ I think Gabe is more complicated than you give him credit for. I think he _does_ care about Zira, even if he does treat him badly...”

  
  


“Takes one to know one, does it?”

  
  


“ _Back off,_ Pulsifer!” Crowley snapped. “We are on the same side here.”

  
  


Newt muttered an assent, and Zira stepped back from the door way.

Gabe, of all people! All this fuss over...

  
  
... _over the streetlight, shimmering on the shards of broken lead-panel, lining the front door. A few flecks of red blood, not his. Over the towering, vacant eyed figure, the smell of old sweat, the gravelly, mocking voice. Over Hastur’s fists, Hastur’s hands, Hastur’s teeth._

He lost himself, for but a moment, but sometimes that was all it took.

Zira fell, again.

_Again!!!_

...again.

  
And he screamed, through his teeth, at the frustration of it. And, of course, at the pain. _Always_ the pain.

  
  
  
He heard alarmed scrambling behind the door, chairs pushed back, and folded his arms over his head, so he wouldn’t have to look at them.

  
  


He tried not to listen to their voices, to not care exactly who wrapped their arms around his shoulders, who scrambled for a pillow, who took his pulse.

It didn’t matter.

Because it was _fuss_ , about _nothing_.  
  
Because it wasn’t Hastur in the park. 

Because it couldn’t be.

Because if it was, he’d never survive it.

It was Crowley holding him, propping up Zira’s aching spine against his wiry rib-cage. Crowley’s stubble against his cheek. Crowley’s cinnamon scent in the air. Crowley’s breath murmuring something into the wrong damn ear.

But Zira forced himself not to recognize this. Recognize Crowley. Because Zira wanted, so badly, to _stay_.  
Right where he was.  
  


  
  
Just for a moment.

”I can’t do it,” he sobbed. “I can’t. I _can’t_.”

Later, the next day, Ana asked Zira what he’d meant. Zira claimed he wasn’t sure. 


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Internalised ableism, fear for the safety of a pet

Zira’s back garden required more thought than the front garden. It was a larger space, and not only that, plants that might be dangerous to Bentley, with her gnawing, gluttonous labradorian temperament, were universally vetoed.

Crowley had _something_ of a plan, however. Establishing some hawthorns, for a hedge, over autumn and winter. Some white roses, although he worried, a little, of thorns in Bentley’s nose. And annuals, every year, for colour. Asters and marigolds in the spring. Maybe snapdragons.  
  


Zira had been standing by the back door, for a _while_ , watching Bentley gambol about, trying to persuade the disinterested chaffinches to play with her. Zira watched her closely, his face twisted, with clear discomfort and with anxiety.

“You _can_ trust me with her you know!” Crowley exclaimed. Then cringed. He hadn’t meant to so sound exasperated.  
  


Zira blinked at him, and looked... _apologetic_. “Oh, Crowley, I’m sorry. I _do_ trust you with her. It’s not you I don’t trust. I can’t... I know it’s silly... but I can’t stop picturing a sausage, hurled over the fence. You know how quickly sausages disappear in her vicinity. Seconds. We could lose her in _seconds_. I... it’s not fair to keep her inside. She loves the sunlight. The birds. But I can’t stand it, if I don’t watch her. It’s a _me_ problem. Not a _you_ problem.”

“Oh,” Crowley replied. “I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.”

“You didn’t, dear. I took no umbrage.”

Crowley took him in more closely. “Those blisters haven’t healed, have they?”

“Oh?”

“You are standing off balance...”

Zira smiled. “That’s an artist’s eye for anatomical detail.”

“Don’t need to be an artist to appreciate _those_ hips,” Crowley replied.  


Crowley had said it almost automatically, but Zira was instantly, nakedly, delighted at the compliment, his soft eyes lighting up.

Seeing that light stung Crowley, a little, as a reminder of the distance between them. That such a meager praise could invoke such surprised delight.

Crowley dropped his head, clear of Zira’s gaze. “These hawthorns will have the rest of autumn, and winter, to settle in. Very light pruning over the next growing season to keep them dense.”

“You are such a _wonder_ with plants,” Zira replied. “These poor gardens. Neither Newt nor I have a green finger between us, and you’ve worked _miracles_...”

Crowley swallowed. “I have high hopes for them. It’s been fun, actually. I never thought I’d have the chance to plant out a space like this.”

“We should get some photos done, in spring,” Zira murmured softly. “When it’s all in bloom. Talia could put them on that Instathing she has for the nursery. People should see how talented you are...”

Zira trailed off, and tensed, as Bentley began sniffing something she’d found with intense interest. But, soon she moved on, and Zira visibly exhaled, closed his eyes. Shivered in the morning sun.

“The nursery has an Instagram?” Crowley asked, watching him carefully. “Zira? Are you alr...?”

“Yes, that’s the one!” Zira replied. “ _Instagram_. Will you be long, out here, do you think?”

“I should be out of your hair soon. Almost done.”

“No! I didn’t mean it like... I... I was thinking we could watch a movie together. _If_ you wanted to. We haven’t done that for a while, and...”

“I’d like that,” Crowley replied, not unconfused, but cautiously warmed by the gesture. “What movie?”

Zira shrugged. “Bentley likes the one where the little pig is a sheep dog...”

“And that’s what happens when you let a dog pick the movie,” Crowley scoffed. “How about _El laberinto del fauno_? You like the subtitles on anyway, these days. We may as well get value for ruined visuals, so to speak...”

Zira paused, then cleared his throat. “That’s the one with the big faun monster villain right? Pan’s labyrinth? I’ll find my glasses...”

  
  


Crowley shook his head. “The _fascists_ are the villains, Angel. The monster is just punching the clock.”  
  


“So, just like real life, then?” Zira replied, lightly and Crowley laughed genuinely, and that felt unfamiliar and strange.

* * *

  
Crowley had always found Zira endearingly annoying to watch movies with. He would gasp at twists, squeak at jump scares, melt and cluck at cloying sweetness. It always seemed he was just restraining himself was booing and throwing popcorn at villains. 

This was something _else_ , though. The movie _harrowed_ Zira, both fascinating, and distressing him, _so much_ , that Crowley found himself watching Zira watch the movie, instead. Watched him breathe, stare unblinking, small horrified moans. Watched him weep noisily through the whole second half. 

And then, the two of them began to fold together again. So easily. All their creases matched.

“I love you,” Crowley said huskily, because he couldn’t help it. And because it was true. 

Zira sniffed, and sobbed out something that was simultaneously incomprehensible, and also, very clearly, _I love you too_.

“I went too big,” Crowley murmured. “From the barnyard, to Del Toro was too big a step-up for you. We should have worked up to it, through _The Iron Giant,_ or... I dunno... _Up,_ or something... You were not ready for that movie.”

Zira shook his head dramatically, and sobbed out something _completely incomprehensible_ this time. 

Crowley kissed Zira’s nose, because he couldn’t help it. And because Zira’s nose was cute. “Bentley, I apologise. I disparaged your movie-picking abilities, and I have learned my lesson. From now on, Bentley picks all the movies.”

Bentley kicked, lazily, at her uppermost ear with her back paw, and snorted.

Crowley smiled. “Sorry, Bentley. Didn’t catch that.”

Zira sniffed. “She said _Kiki’s Delivery Service_.”

“Ugh... no, she didn’t. I did hear her, after all, and she definitely said Moonlight.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so, my dear. I _suppose_ it might have been _Spirited Away_. I could see me making that sort of mistake.”

“Between the two of you...” Crowley sighed, dramatically. “Oh... _fine_.”

* * *

“No, I swear those blisters are _worse_ than yesterday.” Crowley eyed Zira’s residual leg, unhappily.

“That’s rather the way with blisters, dear...” 

“That one looks _infected_.”

“It just looks worse because that skin there is a skin graft. It _always_ looks worse. I’ll be fine, as long as I’m careful.”

Crowley grimaced. “I don’t like the look of it.”

“I don’t much like the look of it, _either_ ,” Zira agreed. “I will survive, regardless...”

“Let me put the moisturizer on tonight. Check your skin _properly_. You look sore, all contorted and twisting around like that...”  
  


Zira stared for a moment, but agreed. 

  
  


Crowley worked slowly, Zira gradually relaxed.

“It’s important not to _over_ -moisturize, as well,” Zira said, eventually. But he sounded regretful, so Crowley merely moved on to less vulnerable skin, Zira’s thigh, other leg, lower back. 

“Will you let me do your back?” Zira asked. “All those plants and garden beds... your muscles must be so sore...”

Crowley cleared his throat. “I made myself stare at my face, in the mirror, today. For _ages_. To try to get used to the way my lip hangs. Over the tooth gap. I _hate_ it. It will probably sound stupid, but it doesn’t feel like _my_ face. It’sjust slightly wrong.”

“It doesn’t sound anything of the sort,” Zira replied, reaching cautiously for Crowley’s hand. “I’m so sorry you are ill, my dear. We should consider seeking something temporary, just for now. I do believe that you can get better. That the implants you want can become possible, with time. That we can work towards it.”

Crowley flinched, dislodging Zira’s grip on his hand. “By temporary fix you mean _dentures_ ,don’t you? _Sexy_ , I’m sure! The accoutrements of the elderly.”

“Like canes and hearing aids?” Zira prodded, gently.

Crowley huffed, softly. “Yeah. You’re right. That was a _shitty_ thing to say. I’m sorry.”

“Hand me the moisturizer, and let me do your back.”

Crowley handed it over, and lay down on his stomach. “It’s not special amputee moisturizer, is it?”

Zira snorted. “It won’t make your leg drop off, if that’s what you are worried about.”

“I meant, it’s not expensive, or hard to get, or anything?”

“Maybe 8 pounds at the local chemist? Cheaper online? But, I’ll use something else, if you like.”

  
  


“I don’t think I really _have_ anything,” Crowley muttered. “I don’t really _do_ skin care...”

“Aren’t you _fortunate_ not to need it!”

“I think you mispronounced ‘ _rugged_ ’ there...”

“Oh, _stop_!”

They touched, more than they spoke, in this strange moment of intimacy they’d found. Crowley basked in the intoxication of being held. _Caressed_. 

“Tracey was excited by my dragon stuff,by the way,” Crowley murmured, sleepily. “So, you lot can stop calling them doom-lizards. The art establishment has spoken.”

“Nonsense, dear. I _adore_ your ‘doom-lizard series’. Are you going to install my sunroom wallin Tracey’s gallery?”

“Maybe?” Crowley yawned. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

Zira smiled gently. “Paint on whatever you please, Crowley dear.”

“I dream about painting Angel wings on your back, sometimes.”

“That sounds fine.” Zira’s fingers circled rhythmically on Crowley’s shoulders.

Crowley smiled. “Creams, pale caramels... naples yellow, raw sienna.”

“Lovely.”

“...renaissance gold...”

  
  


Crowley slept.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Eating disorder sequelae and discussion, internalised ableism, anxiety, body image issues, reference to pharmaceutical corporate malfeasance, body shaming

The weather turned abruptly colder. Crowley caught a cold that shifted into his chest, and that, once there, rather stubbornly refused to shift out again. Crowley coughed so much that his whole chest ached by mid morning, and he struggled to sleep. Zira fussed, by bringing him endless glasses of orange juice, and sneezing his way through rubbing eucalyptus and rosemary ointments on Crowley’s back.

  
  


“You need antibiotics,” Ana insisted, regularly.

  
  


Crowley scoffed. “Seriously? You’re always banging on about antibiotic resistance, and how people shouldn’t take antibiotics for colds. Cause they are _virus-_ bugs instead of _living_ -bugs, or something...”

  
  


“ _Healthy_ people generally _shouldn’t_ take antibiotics for a cold,” Ana replied, quietly. “ _You_ should go to your doctor, and get evaluated for a bacterial superinfection.”

  
  


“ _Superinfection_ ,” Crowley muttered. “That’s a word intended to intimidate, if ever I heard one...”

  
  


“Ten pounds on him saying something about _Big Pharma_ , in the next sentence,” Newt muttered.

  
  


Annoyed, Crowley began explaining about Purdue and OxyContin, as just one example.

  
  


“And that’s all awful, no doubt,” Zira sighed, “But Crowley dear, _please_ go see if you need antibiotics.”

  
Crowley pointed at Bentley. “You know resistance might get so serious that they ban antibiotic use in animals. Is that what you all want? Bentley to die of a bone infection if she needs a hip replacement? Or of a kidney infection in her dotage?”

  
  


Ana put her head in her hands. “No one serious is talking about banning antibiotics in _dogs_ for _therapeutic_ reasons. The discussion is about their use in livestock as a growth additive.”

  
“Maybe _now_ ,” Crowley replied. “But, in any crisis, it’s always the underclasses that’s suffer, not business interests. You mark my words. The poor and their pets will suffer long before any corporate bottom line is affected...”

  
“Oh lord!” Newt muttered. “Just go to your fucking GP, you pillock. You aren’t the worried well running up antibiotic resistance, you are a walking scarecrow with pneumonia! Go get treated!”

  
  


“I’m feeling better,” Crowley grumbled, even though he wasn’t.

  
  


Newt groaned. “I’m booking an appointment for you, and an Uber to the office. Zira, will you please make sure he actually gets into the Uber please?”

  
  


Crowley rolled his eyes. “You seem tetchy, Newt. Are you getting enough fiber?”

  
  


Newt slammed the front door on his way out.

  
  


“Oh _dear_...” Zira sighed.

  
  


Crowley shrugged. “He’s always hated me...”

  
  


“He doesn’t, you know,” Ana observed quietly. “Believe it or not, Crowley, he calls you an emaciated scarecrow out of love.”

  
  


“Well, he can stop, any time he fucking likes!” Crowley sneered back. “Does he call _YOU_ names ‘ _out of love_ ’?”

  
  


Ana chucked. “That’s a bit of a personal question, isn’t it?”

  
  


Crowley pouted, out of puff.

  
  


Zira poured him more orange juice.

* * *

Crowley fiddled with the foil of his antibiotics, unhappily. “If anyone should be on antibiotics it’s _you_ ,” he muttered to Zira. “I refuse to even call that thing a blister, any more. It’s an ulcer. It’s _infected_. And, we are just ignoring it.”

  
  


“I’m not ignoring it,” Zira sighed. “I’m taking care of it. I just... I’m not going to talk to a doctor about it. I... just can’t be off my feet right now, so to speak, and they won’t understand. They’ll say to use crutches, or the wheelchair, until it heals and...”

  
  


“And... ? _What_? Why not? University? Because I will call that accommodation office again and tear them a new one if...”

  
  


“Because of _him_ ,” Zira whispered. “I thought I saw him again, the other day. And today, on the way to the pharmacy, I saw another man, and I _know_ it wasn’t Hastur today, but when I saw the man from behind, I... Anyway, Crowley, please trust me. I’m not new to this. Yes, a prosthetic socket is hot and sweaty and basically bacteria heaven. Yes I know I have to be careful. But I’m healthy, in _that_ respect at least, I have got good circulation... I... I know what I’m doing.”

  
  


Crowley shook his head and sighed. “Okay.. yeah... fine. I get it. The advice on the websites has to be for everyone, and you don’t have vascular disease or circulation problems. I _get it_. I’m... Zira, I’m just terrified of anything happening to you.”

  
  


Zira smiled. “ A feeling that’s quite mutual, dear. And, in that spirit, let’s get some antibiotics into you, please. Are they the ‘with food’ or ‘without food’ kind?”

  
  


“Hang on, I’ll check the label.”

  
  


“And I shall locate the humidifier,” Zira replied. “I know I have one _somewhere_...”

* * *

  
When a coughing fit woke Crowley at 2am, he tried not to wake Zira, but, of course, he did.One minute he was spluttering into his pillow, trying to repress the sound, and the next, Zira stirred beside him, and Zira’s sleepy hands stroked and patted his shuddering back.

  
  


“There, my dear,” Zira cooed, when the spasms subsided. “Would you like some ointment? How can I help?”

  
  


Crowley gulped. “I don’t want to be sick anymore!”

  
  


“I know, my dear. And you are doing so well! You are definitely eating more, and the doctor weighed you today. You _are_ doing better. I know the cough is a setback, but... you can do this. I believe you can get better...”

“And, will you hate me if I do, Angel?” Crowley whispered, softly, into the dark.

  
  


“ _What_?” The sleep had dropped from Zira’s voice, with this syllable. He sounded fully awake. “What on earth could you mean?”

  
  


“I mean...yeah... Everybody has been _very_ clear. People with eating disorders _can_ recover. _I_ could get better... but _you?_ You’llnever not be disabled. Your leg... your ear... and...and your _hand_. They said most of what you’d get back in your hand, you’d get in the first few months, and it’s been nearly six, and you still...

“....I think, Angel, if our positions were reversed. If you’d made fun of me... said such _awful_ things, and then gone on to get better again, while I didn’t... Zira... will you? _Hate_ me?”

  
  


Zira sighed. “Oh Crowley! I... it’s not a... a _whatsit-_ heavens I’m tired!- it’s not a _zero-sum-game_ , that’s it. Your suffering doesn’t do me any good. It’s not something I want. It’s the last thing I want.”

Crowley laughed, bitterly. “Does Misery _NOT_ love company? Got that wrong, did they? Ray, or Marlowe, or whoever?”

Zira kissed Crowley’s hand, under cover of darkness. “Well, I cant speak for Misery, and whether she loves company, my dear. But I can speak for myself. Zira loves Crowley. Despite things, and because of things. And quite completely.”

  
  


“Even though I did this to myself?” Crowley whispered.

  
  


“You did _**not**_. It’s far more complicated than...”

  
  


“And, even though I said those awful things? I don’t _believe_ them...”

  
“Crowley, dear. _I_ believe those things about myself _some days_. I shouldn’t have to tell you, my dear leftie firebrand, that we are products of our society. That some injustices are written deeply into us. That we have to _put our minds_ to standing against them. I _choose_ not to think of myself as lesser, Crowley. It’s not automatic. At least not for me. At least not yet. It’s a _choice_. And one I need you to choose, as well. Expecting _perfection_ would be unfair, but I ask for your best effort on this. And, I choose to be believe I deserve it.”

  
  


“You do,” Crowley whispered. “And you’ll get it.”

  
  


“And, you’ll get mine,” Zira soothed. “Now, that’s quite enough _deep and meaningful_ for one witching hour! We need sleep, every bit as much as a kinder world. And also I think we need pancakes and ice cream for breakfast.”

  
  


“ _Not_ for Bentley, though,” Crowley scolded. “I don’t care what faces she gives you. It’s bad for her tummy.”

  
  


“It’s bad for my tummy, too,”Zira said lightly, but then cringed “Oh, shoot! So much for my best! Pretend I said something else. Something that doesn’t do _the bad things_ with food and body image.”

  
  


“Hey, it’s okay,” Crowley replied, nuzzling Zira’s neck. “It’s the middle of the night, and I woke you up. And we just got through deciding we can’t be perfect.”

  
  


“I _will_ do better, though,” Zira said. “No more negative comments about my own... er... rotundity. And I’m going to figure out a way to make Bentley-safe ice cream. Or maybe sorbet? Sorbet could work. Do you think she’d like it, even though it’s colder?”

  
  


”Do I think a _Labrador_ would like _food_?” Crowley replied, thoughtfully. “Gosh, I don’t know, Zira. I guess it’s possible?”


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Even more ableism! Anxiety/fear for the well-being of a loved/one pet. Vomiting.
> 
> —————
> 
> This is not an easy chapter (do I even write those?). I put serious thought into delaying this a day or two for people already feeling overwhelmed by real world events. Ultimately, I decided this was not the moment to become unreliable, and that people could make up their own minds... but I’m exquisitely aware that there are many among us finding their basic human rights even more up in the air than usual today. I’m saddened and outraged for you and, on some axes, along with you. 
> 
> Do what you need to do, lovely readers. Put yourselves and your self care needs first. xxxx

They made out heavily, on Tuesday night, because by then Crowley was breathing better, well enough to handle it. The meditative solace of lips and skin. Zira’s eyes went glassy, for a moment, when Crowley’s hands slid a little further up under Zira’s shirt, but Zira seemed to recover quickly. All had seemed well.

  
  


On Wednesday night, they watched movies. Gentle, heartfelt movies, Crowley’s cheek resting against Zira’s hair. Crowley _should_ have been bored, and indeed he proclaimed loudly that he _was_ bored. But, he wasn’t bored. He was in love. Zira’s delight in such movies was more than entertainment enough. Homemade popcorn, stupid movies, and the smell of Zira’s shampoo was more than enough.

  
  


Then on Thursday, Zira was hit by a bad pain day, with the suddenness and unfairness of a summer rainstorm. Zira blamed the cooling weather, as he struggled to find a breathing pattern which did not send his back into spasm. Newt and Crowley fussed with warming heat packs. It took the heavy-duty pain pills to help Zira escape into sleep. The ones they kept in short supply, since Hastur’s break-in, and in a different part of the house to the other medications. 

  
  


_Friday_.Friday had started all right. Zira had seemed much better. Had made it out of bed. Had cooked Crowley breakfast.

The stack of crepes were fine, Crowley managed to eat them. They were topped with lemon and sugar, and represented only about a half of Zira’s output, because he kept getting distracted by recounting theories the domestication of wheat in prehistory. Out of respect to Crowley’s eating issues, Zira was unwilling to present him with anything less than a certain standard, and just patiently kept making them until the stack was high enough.

Bentley, standing by, had no such violent reactions to texture, and joyfully consumed those only slightly over-cooked.

Crowley would wonder, later, if these extra crepes would have anything to do with what happened later, and would bleakly wish that, if so, he had eaten every last one of them.

Because, about an hour after Crowley had left for the nursery, Bentley vomited, and Zira panicked.

The first Crowley heard of any of this, was a phone call, at about noon from a nurse at Bentley’s vet. After first assuring him that Bentley was fine, the nurse explained what had happened. That Zira had arrived, shaking and tearful, certain that Bentley had been poisoned. That Bentley had been bright and friendly with the staff, showed no signs of distress, pain, excess salivation or anything else worrying.

“ _MY DOG_ wasn’t slobbering excessively?!” Crowley replied, archly, wishing the nurse would get to the point. “Are you _sure_ you’ve got the right number?”  
  


The nurse tittered, too much, at the joke, and continued relaying the story. Zira had begged for an in-house blood test, which had shown normal electrolytes, and liver and kidney enzymes. At that point, the vet had been unwilling to put Bentley through much else. At least until she had the good grace to vomit a second time. 

Zira had still been upset, however, and while they had eventually convinced him to leave the vet practice, he had only got as far as the bus stop bench across the street. He had been sitting there, with Bentley, for nearly two hours, and this nurse Crowley was speaking to wondered if he might not need some ‘ _help_ ’ getting home.

  
  


Crowley paused at the end of this information. It did not escape his notice that this nurse probably would have minded her own business, were it not for the way Zira sometimes stumbled over a word, were it not for the hearing aids, for the still noticeable weakness on his right side.  


And, this pissed him the fuck off.

And, at the same time, he was incredibly grateful that she’d called.

Promising to call Zira, Crowley hung up and did exactly that, the call going through to Zira’s voicemail. On a hunch, Crowley logged in to the app thingy, and saw that Zira’s phone was not across the street from the vet, but rather at the house.

It was easy to imagine Zira, panicking for Bentley, rushing out of the house, forgetting his phone. And this decided things for Crowley. It was at least _possible_ that Zira _would_ have called Crowley for help, if he _could_ have, and so, Crowley was going.

Calling out apologies to Talia and Navneet, Crowley charged out of the nursery, grateful for the thousandth time that he was his own boss, and promising to himself that he’d be agonizingly flexible, regarding any crises his employees had, in the future.

Zira was still at the bus shelter when Crowley arrived. Bentley was lapping bottled water out of his cupped hand. A pair of middle-aged Chelsea-types were whispering, and literally, actually _pointing_ at him. Crowley immolated them mentally, before sitting down next to Zira, and gently sliding the hand holding Bentley’s lead into his and squeezing. “Hey, Angel. You okay?”

“No...” Zira whispered, tearfully. “Bentley vomited right after playing in the garden. I thought she’s been poisoned, was _dying_ , and so I walked her here as fast as I could. They can’t kind anything wrong and I can’t walk any more, and it’s hard to get a dog-friendly taxi at the best of times, and I think I’ve lost my phone somewhere. It must have fallen out of my pocket and...”

“It’s at home,” Crowley replied gently. “Not lost. Just at home. And, it’s alright, Angel. I’m here now. I’ll walk Bentley home, and we’ll call a cab for you. We’ve got this. We’ll go home together, and I can always race Bentley back to the vet, if needed, but... she seems happy enough, aren’t you Bentley?”  
  


Bentley’s tail wagged enthusiastically, and she nuzzled Crowley’s shin. 

  
  


Crowley kissed Zira gently. “Dogs just sort of... throw up some times? Not as much as cats do. Cats do it, _on purpose_ , to provide commentary on new carpeting. Dogs don’t do _that_ , but they do, sometimes just... vomit.”

Zira pursed his lips and nodded. “I’m so embarrassed,” he whispered. “I _know_ everyone is staring, but I can’t help it. I want to shout at them to stop staring, but they’d only stare harder. No one has talked to me, by the way. Let me use a phone, or offered to call a cab, or anything. Just the staring.”

“Yup, Chelsea is a garbage-fire,” Crowley replied, a little too loudly. “Just full of that certain sort...” He ordered Zira a taxi. “We’ll wait with you.”

But Zira shook his head. “No... please. Get poor Bentley home. And I’ve kept her sitting at this stupid bench long enough. She’s been so good about it. She’s such a good girl. So sweet to me. And, I don’t like being home by myself, anyway. Maybe this way you’ll beat me there!”

  
  


Crowley nodded. “And if we do, I’ll have a cup of hot chocolate ready and waiting for you. Chilly again today, isn’t it? See you soon, Angel.”  
  


Crowley and Bentley did indeed beat Zira home.   
  


They waited.  
  


Zira didn’t appear.

Crowley checked his phone. The taxi had reported a no show. 

A stone settled in Crowley’s stomach. He paused for a moment, unsure what to do. Zira must had decided to walk home, after all. Maybe the whispering or the Chelsea hair-dos had become too much. Crowley contemplated going out, again, to look for him. He stared resentfully at Zira’s phone sitting on the counter. Bentley stared at him and panted, whined softly, lowered her head to the ground.

Eventually, Crowly dialled Izzy McBusyBody at the vet clinic, and explained the situation.

“Yeah, he’s not on bench any more. But don’t fret. I saw him talking to a friend before,” the nurse chirped, happily. “I’m sure they took him home.”

“Me...” Crowley sighed, impatiently. “That was me.”

“No, not _you_ ,” the nurse replied. “I know _you_. I saw you. The skinny one. This friend came after you left with Bentley. Real tall guy.”

Crowley sighed with relief, smiled at Bentley, almost laughed.

_Newt!_

Someone must have lent Zira a phone, after all, and he’d called Newt for a lift. Or, Newt had some sort of Zira’s-in-trouble spidey-sense. Crowley honestly didn’t care. Just bless him and his stupid little car.“Yeah. Tall guy. Brown hair? Glasses?”

“ _Really_ tall, yeah,” the nurse agreed. “Weird looking...”

_Poor Newt_ , Crowley thought, with something like affection. 

  
  


“... not brown hair though. Blond. _Very_ blond. Almost white.”

  
  


_Blond_.

Crowley dropped the phone.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Kidnapping, severe anxiety for safety of loved ones/pets, fire, GRAPHIC threats of violence, graphic threats of public violence, bladed weapon, reference to violence against a pregnant person, battery/unwanted touching, dissociation, PTSD symptoms, acute stress disorder, fear of death.

Crowley squeezed the three phones in his hands, and paced. Newt was on Ana’s work mobile, trying to convince the police to take them seriously, a task neither Crowley nor Ana currently had the patience for. Ana was calling hospitals and emergency centres on her own mobile, trying to stay out of Crowley’s ear shot while she was doing so. And Crowley was pacing, holding phones and swearing.

  
  


The three phones Crowley was holding were his own phone, Zira’s phone, and Newt’s phone. The idea was supposed to be that these were the three numbers Zira was most likely to know by heart. The most likely to call for help on. Crowley checked, again, that the batteries were all charged, that the volume was at maximum. He laced his fingers between the stack to minimize the chance of missing a vibration. It gave him something to do with his hands.

  
Bentley was curled up, in a tight, miserable, labradorian coil, right up against the front door. She’d stopped jumping up and hopefully wagging her tail at the slightest sound. She looked _guilty_. Crowley _hated_ it. “Bentley’s a good girl,” Crowley whispered to her, every few minutes. “She’s a good, good girl.”  
  


Newt’s call ended from the other side, and he hissed in frustration. “I’m going to try calling the CPS. Maybe _they_ can light a fire under somebody.”

“There’s that victim liaison lady...” Crowley whispered, quietly. 

“I left her a voicemail, already.”

Crowley swallowed. “Newt, I...”

“This isn’t your fault, Crowley. It was the middle of the afternoon! A public street! You didn’t do anything... and anyway, it’s going to be fine.”

Crowley was _certain_ it was not going to be fine. 

His whole body trembled in an evil wind. Tears stung his eyes.

His fingers buzzed.

“ _Fuck_!” Crowley yelled, in shock, and dropped all three phones. They bounced and scattered, by his feet. 

Crowley dropped to his knees carelessly. His knee caps stung. He liked the pain. He lunged for the phone  displaying a text message. His phone. If it turned out to be an ad for dog food, he thought his mind might scatter for good.

**_Gabe:_ **

**_Not hurt. Barking Hospital Urgent care._ **

  
Crowley stared, and read it again.  
  
  
  


**_Not hurt. Barking Hospital Urgent care._ **

“Ana!” Crowley’s voice was thin. Reedy. Almost insectoid. “Have you tried Barking? Gabe says Barking.” 

“ _Barking_?!” Ana replied incredulous, as Newt read the text over Crowley’s shoulder. And presumably the one Crowley has sent to Gabe about Zira being missing.

“I’ll get the car keys,” Newt said, quietly, as Ana shrugged and googled the number. “Should I put Bentley out?”

“No!” Crowley stammered, because a little pile of poisoned sausages appeared in his mind, clear as day. 

His mind couldn’t focus at all on **_Not hurt_** , and he didn’t believe it, anyway. His mind _could_ focus on poisoned sausages, and the strange echo in his head. 

_Barking Barking Barking..._

“No, Newt. Leave her inside. I need her safe insi....” 

He trailed off, because a different image formed in his head. A broken window. A Molotov cocktail. A fire. Frantic scratching at the door. Terrified whining...

  
  


_Barking_

  
  


“I don’t know!” It was too much. Crowley collapsed in on himself. His heart was a dying star.

Newt put a hand on each shoulder, and steered Crowley to the car.

* * *

When Hastur first sat down next toZira, Zira actually _assumed_ he was hallucinating.

It took a moment. A few moments. A creeping dread of _this-is-actually happening_. And by then, Hastur was pressed up against his right side. Hastur’s left arm in the gap between them. Something sharp pressing through Zira’s coat and pricking the skin above his right kidney.

“We are going to take a bus, or two,” Hastur announced, in the tone of a pantomime character announcing a grand adventure.

Zira couldn’t quite formulate a response for a moment, because this still wasn’t quite _happening_. “I want to go home,” he managed.

“Maybe!” Hastur replied, in the same weirdly pleasant tone. “But, we’ve got a chore to do, first. Don’t fuss. Will hurt less, if you don’t fuss. Hurt _you_ less. Hurt that pregnant lady, over there, _less_. Little kid in the stroller...”

Zira gawped at him. He was just _saying_ these things! Out loud! In the middle of the afternoon! Wasn’t anyone _listening_? 

Apparently, no one was. No one reacted. No one glanced their way.

“These people won’t help you,” Hastur observed, casually, patting Zira on the cheek. Smiling when he flinched. “Have you not figured it out, then? How they work? Living amongst them all this time? It’s like wildebeest. How wildebeest just sort of gradually, casually force the weak and the injured to the outside of the herd. For the lions. For the crocodiles. That’s what’s just happened to you. They can _smell_ it, this lot! _I_ smell like predator, and _you_ smell like the-edge-of-the-herd. They don’t even know they are doing it, but, they are letting me take you. Deep down in their wildebeest brain. Better _you_ , than _them_. These ain’t your people, mate.”

Zira swallowed. “Crowley was _your people_ , once. Your friend. He loves me. You’ll break his heart. Why are you doing this?”

Hastur chuckled. “Crowley broke my nose for you. Did you know that? But, he doesn’t love you. Crowleys don’t love. Do you know what he is?”

“Not a lion, like you, presumably!” Zira replied, as scathingly as he dared. “So, what, then? What’s Crowley in this metaphor? Another broken wildebeest?”

“Nah. Crowley’s a hyena. You think he loves you, but, he’s _feeding_ off you. He’s eating the part of you that is already dead. And, the more of you that dies, the more he has to eat, see?”

Zira shook his head, and tried to stand up, but Hastur slammed a hand down on his thigh, to pin him down to the bench.  


The contact immediately scattered Zira’s thoughts, like broken window shards.

_Don’t touch me. Don’t!  
  
_

Hastur didn’t move his hand.

  
  
  
Zira had really liked the trousers he was wearing. They were comfortable, could be rolled over his knee for easy adjustments to his leg, and yet still somehow managed not to be unflattering. As he looked at Hastur’s fingernails, overlong and yellow, pressing into the fabric, bruising his skin beneath, Zira didn’t think he’d be able to wear them again. Not with the memory of those fingernails, pressing.

A bus was coming.

Hastur pulled Zira to his feet. “This is us.”

Zira looked around. No one was paying any attention to them. He desperately sought eye contact. One figure after the next. But all eyes slid away from him. 

“If I stab you in the kidney, you’ll bleed out fast,” Hastur said, conversationally. “But not fast enough that you’ll miss me cutting the toddler’s throat. Do you reckon it gushes or spurts when you stab a preggo-belly? Make a fuss, and you will die knowing one way or the other.”  
  


Zira got on the bus.

  
  


_Think think think!  
  
_

He _couldn’t_ think, though. It was like trying to think with a high fever. Hastur had him pinned on a bus seat, between the window and his hulking, fetid form. Zira’s left arm awkwardly squashed, and too far from the knife, in any case. Zira’s right arm, inches away from it, but too slow, too clumsy, too weak and palsied.  


And, Hastur’s right hand, the one not directing that blade, was on Zira’s thigh again. Squeezing.  


Zira’s brain could even hardly keep track of where he was. He felt equally in his hallway, Hastur’s blows raining down on him, as he did on this bus.And neither _really_ felt real, at all.

  
  


Echoes of pain burned though his body. Distorted images of his own blood, his own crutch arching towards him. Hasturs swinging boot. A metallic smell. Underwater sounds. The sanity-rending invasion of teeth and hands.  
  


They changed buses, and then changed buses again, Hastur updating his threats each time. The school kid with the broken arm, sharing a phone screen with their mother. The grandfather, in front of his pigtailed grandchild.  
  


Zira _obeyed_. 

“Good boy,” Hastur whispered stroking Zira’s leg.   
  


Zira _didn’t scream_.  


The bus rolled through unfamiliar streets. Zira wasn’t sure where he was, anymore. “Where are we going?” he asked, through gritted teeth.

“I told you,” Hastur replied. “Errand. Two birds, one stone, sort of thing. There’s this doctor, and he’ll write prescriptions for most things, but every now and then, he wants plausible deniability. You get me a script, I’ll let you go. Think of it as an acting job.”

Zira almost sobbed. “That’s what this is about. Pills? _Again_?”

Hastur shrugged. “Don’t blame me, mate. Blame a world where your pain is considered valid, and treated properly, and my pain isn’t.”

“You think my pain is treated _properly_?” Zira replied bitterly. “You think people like you haven’t made things nearly impossible for people like me?” 

“You going to try and convince me we’re the same, are you?” Hastur laughed. “Comrade Aziraphale with his posh leafy house, designer fence, and dinner parties? What do you want to bet that your dog eats higher grade meat than I do? Pretty mutt, isn’t she? Gentle. You should have got a Rottweiler, or something. How much do you think I’d have to hurt her to get her to bite?”

“You STAY AWAY from my dog!” Zira hissed. “You stay away!”  
  


“You should stop your mouth from running,” Hastur replied, his tone still chillingly amiable.“Or, I’ll stop it up for you. Maybe bite those pretty lips right off your face. This is our stop coming. Stand up.”

  
  


Something in Zira snapped. No particular thoughts came along with the snap, more a bright, empty clarity.  


  
  


Zira just gripped onto to back of the seat in front of him, stared into the middle distance, and refused to let go.  
  


The bus slowed. “Get _the fuck_ up!” Hastur hissed, and _this_ time he was too loud.   
  


Or, maybe _this_ bus, rumbling through a rougher part of London, less gentrified streets, _this_ bus was somehow different. An old lady, with four dirty canvas shopping bags, and a rainbow crotchet hat, glanced over at them. The bus driver’s eyes watched in the mirror. 

“No.” Zira said.

  
Zira wasn’t getting off this bus. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to lie to some shonky doctor first, wasn’t going to limp, thereafter, to his own grave. Wasn’t going to see how many times Hastur would bite him, before he’d let him die.

If Hastur was going to kill him, he was going to have to do it _on. this. fucking. bus._

Zira waited, his eyes closed, his fingers gripping tightly, waiting. Waiting for the pain. For the screaming, and blood. 

It didn’t come.

The bus started to move again, and Zira’s eyes peeled open. Hastur was gone. No, not gone. Off the bus. On the pavement. Waving to Zira cheerfully, receding into the distance.

That scream that Zira hadn’t been screaming came out now. It was quiet. More a _moan,_ than a scream. More a _squeak_.  
  


“You alright, my lovely?” the lady with the rainbow hat called. “He’s bad news, that one. Got bad news, written all over him. You can do better. Find someone who treats you right.”  
  


Zira nodded stupidly, and curled up on the bus seat, still moaning. He felt a desperate need cry, but he’d forgotten how.   
  


The bus driver dropped him off at a hospital, waiting for the lady in the rainbow hat, while she walked Zira inside.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: Hospital scenes, rubbish-fire family dynamics, sedation, acute stress reaction/PTSD, Gabriel assumes Bentley is a male dog, reference to homophobia, ableism.

At Barking Urgent Care, Crowley blew right past Sandy, barely even registering that he was there. Just like every wall, piece of perspex, door, curtain, nurse, and air molecule between Crowley and Zira, Sandy has been nothing more that an obstacle, to traverse as quickly as possible.   
  


“Zira?!” Crowley called, striding down the hallway. “Angel?”  
  


“Sir, please, there’s no need to shout, if you just...” 

Crowley wielded around on the scrubs-clad man, who was charged with directing traffic through the back of the department. “That one, there...”  
  


Crowley blew past him, as well, in the direction that he’s pointed.  
  


_Zira_.  
  


Crowley barged in, his arms subconsciously opening for the hug he needed so desperately to give.  
  


_Not hurt, Gabe had said._  
  


Part of Crowley must have been expecting to find Zira with his normal emergency room demenor- polite, if weary and resigned- because, Crowley pulled up short at sight of the grey, almost wax-like stillness of the figure sitting on the bed.

  
  


_Zira_. 

Gabe was watching. Well dressed. Spotless, cream coloured scarf. Sipping coffee. Crowley felt like one of a pair of insects trapped under a glass. “I think they gave him a horse tranquilizer or something,” Gabe observed, nearly expressionless.  
  


Crowley waved a hand at him, impatiently, and sat down on the bed at Zira’s side. Zira’s expression twitched, but it was hard to read what it was trying to do. Crowley collected Zira’s hands in his. “Angel...?”  
  


“Hastur,” Zira said, struggling to get the word out. “We took the bus... he _made me_ take the bus.”

“This would be the same Hastur you asked me to look into already, would it?” Gabe asked Crowley“There aren’t two different ‘Hastur’s stalking him? Because that would be a _National Enquirer_ levels of nuts, assuming we aren’t there, already.”

Zira’s eyes swam, and blinked at Crowley, not seeming to register his brother had spoken. “Is Bentley well? Safe?”

Crowley nodded, and started to sob again. 

Gabe clicked his tongue in distaste. “Who, or _what_ , is Bentley?” 

“Bentley’s our dog, Gabe,” Crowley replied, with as much patience as he could muster. “Listen, do you think you could give us a minute? Maybe?”  
  


Gabe chucked into his coffee. “Oh right. My canine nephew. I forgot. And, trust me, Crowley. You want me here. You haven’t gotten to the good part, yet...”

“Gabe, listen, thank you _sincerely_ for messaging me, but what the fu....”

At that moment, however, only slightly off cue, Sandy burst into the bay, with a nurse, and pointed dramatically at Crowley. “I want that man removed _immediately_. He has proven himself a completely unsuitable carer for my poor brother. That ulcer on his leg! Abandoning him, to get himself lost and frightened in the bus network! I _insist_ that you...”  
  


Crowley, instantly ready to breathe fire, sprang off the bed, and pointed a finger in Sandy’s face. “You! How dare you...? ”

Gabe let out a loud long-suffering sigh. “How about we all, just, take it down a notch or two? Discuss this like dignified, civilized people. Or else, I’ll have them get the horse tranquilizers for the two of you, as well.”

“There is nothing further to discuss!” Sandy replied, shortly. “I am planning to telephone Mr Brooks, asking him to immediately begin drafting a petition to...”

“Good... good... you go do that! Go play with your lawyer like a good lad!” Gabe muttered, dismissing Sandy with a curt nod. “I need to have a word or two with Crowley here.”

Sandy looked confused, and not a little furious, but did stride off, smartly.

Gabe sipped more coffee. “Right... well, ignoring Sandy’s nonsense court petition, for a moment. What’s next, do you think?”  
  


“Get Hastur’s bail revoked,” Crowley replied, immediately.“Surely, this will be enough to...”

“You _would_ think,” Gabe replied, evenly. “However, I suspect we are going to find Hastur has surprisingly expensive legal representation, and also has an alibi placing him far from Zira today.”

“What?! _No_! Hastur couldn’t afford...”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Do try to _keep up_ , Crowley. The money! It’s always about money. Supply and demand. Hastur has the _ability_ to unhinge Zira. Hastur _needs_ money. Now, who do we know that _has_ money, _and_ stands to benefit financially if Zira is, indeed, unhinged? I’ll give you a hint. He was in here, chewing the scenery, twenty seconds ago.”

Crowley blinked. “You think Sandy, what, _hired_ Hastur to...?”

“I have some nice glossy photos of Hastur and Sandy, talking in St James’ Park, two days ago. Sandy handed Hastur an honest-to-god broadsheet newspaper. Now, is Hastur a big newspaper reader? Is he all about those cryptic crosswords?”

Crowley blinked. His eyes flicked to Zira, who was staring leadenly at the wall, giving no indication whether he was following along at all. Crowley swallowed. “What do I _do_?”

Gabe sighed. “First, we get you out of London for a bit, while Sandy blows his wad. Secondly, I _strongly_ suggest that you and Zira make things official. Get married. As quickly, and as quietly, as possible.”

“Zira doesn’t want to get married just to access some stupid trust,” Crowley muttered back.

“It’s not about the trust fund,” Gabe replied, in the tone of one talking to a toddler. “It’s about a potential play for Zira’s power of attorney. Sandy won’t have much trouble getting himself appointed, instead of me. It’s well known that I’ve been estranged from Zira for years. Getting appointed instead of a spouse, however? That’s much more of an uphill climb. Sandy doesn’t actually care about Zira’s wellbeing. If he loses the financial incentive to haveZira declared incompetent, he’ll stop.”

“Are you _sure_ about all this?”

Gabe gave a small shrug. “Reasonably. And, even if I _am_ wrong, it’s still what _you_ should do. Instant windfall. Assuming you aren’t actually abusing my brother, you’ll stand up to any cursory investigation that results. You’ve got very little to lose, here.”  
  


Crowley massaged his forehead. “You said get out of the city?”  
  


Gabe shrugged. “Yeah. The cottage is perfect, even though Sandy knows about it. It’s unlikely you can hide from Sandy, anyway, but he’d have much less plausible deniability, if Hastur _just so happens_ to shows up at Zira’s cottage in Sussex. Sandy’s not stupid enough to risk that.”

“I don’t have a cottage in Sussex,” Zira interrupted, flatly, causing Crowley’s eyes to swing back to him, to carefully take his hand again. “Father left it to Sandy.”

Gabe snorted. “Sandy told you that, did he? Zira... the whole reason Father bought the damn thing was to get Sandy out of the city and away from all the ‘drugs’ and ‘loose’ women. That’s why we all got dragged out there. Sandy _hated_ that place. _Everybody_ hated that place, except YOU. You used to tramp off to the cliffs, do those little watercolours of the scenery, and read your little books to that oak tree. You were happy there. Why would Father leave it to anyone else?”

“Because he hated me for being gay, _obviously_ ,” Zira replied, clearly struggling to concentrate, but determined, regardless. “And, I wasn’t ‘ _reading to the tree’_. I was practicing the art of Declamation.”

Gabe shrugged. “Yeah... he hated that you were gay. _And_ he hated that Sandy was a skirt-chaser and an addict. _And_ he hated every independent thought I ever had... I suppose, it was hard for you to see it all. You were still a child. Anyway. Point being, go straight from here to Sussex, for a bit, while this sorts itself out. Stay out of harm’s way, for once.”  
  


“Zira can’t just ‘go to Sussex’,” Newt interrupted, walking in to Zira’s bay. “He doesn’t have anything with him. No crutches, no wheelchair, none of the right medications, toiletries, accessories. This cottage won’t have been made accessible... Not everybody can just jump in a learjet, and globetrot, Gabriel.”   
  


“Lovely to see you too, Newton,” Gabe replied drily. “I can arrange to have that stuff delivered.Surely, Zira can survive a day or two? There’s the dog, I suppose. Someone will have to get him tonight...”

“...her...”

“... whichever. I’ll call my head of security. Michael. She’ll arrange for someone to collect the dog, and we’ll figure out the rest later. I have other engagements this evening.”

Gabe slipped a slimline phone out of his pocket and began typing.

Crowley turned back to Zira. “Angel... are you alright? Is _this_ alright? Do you want to go to Sussex? And, what happened with Hastur? He made you get on the bus, you said... _how_? Which bus? What _happened_?”

Zira shook his head. “I wasn’t reading to the tree. I was _practicing_. Father always said I mumbled, stammered, was too quiet. I was trying to be _better_...”

“Shhhh, hey,” Crowley whispered, pulling him to a hug.“It’s okay. Let’s go to Sussex, yeah? Get out of the city. Well away from Hastur. Give you some time to...”

To... 

Crowley didn’t know how that sentence ended. He didn’t even know what had happened. What would happen now.

_Not hurt_ , indeed.

Gabe cleared his throat. “Michael has a question. She wants to know if her guy will need to take one of those catching poles to get Bentley to go with him?”

Crowley swung around again. “No catching pole! You don’t need a...Bentley will go with _anyone_ for half a cheese sandwich! If that! For heavens sake, don’t traumatize her, too. In fact, I think, I should go get her myself.”

Gabe clicked his tongue. “You aren’t listening to me. You need to let me handle this. None of you idiots should go back to that house.”

“What about Newt and Ana? They have jobs, they can’t drop everything and go to Sussex.”

Gabe shrugged.

“Ana and I can stay at her place,” Newt offered quietly.

Crowley blinked. “Ana’s... Place? Does she not live with us?”

Newt shrugged. “I mean sort of, but not _officially_? She still has her own place. People do that. It’s very normal. Why does everything need a name on it anyway?”

Gabe chucked. “Well _that’s_ a sore spot, obviously. Okay. So, everything’s settled. Michael has dispatched an intern, with a locksmith and a cheese sandwich. Town cars have been ordered. The cottage caretaker has been notified. And I’ll clear Sandy out of here with me. Now... I need to teleconference with Japan so... if that’s everything?”

Crowley nodded, head spinning. 

Gabe nodded shortly back. “Right. Excellent. Well...um... both of you, take care. Zira, I... _take care_.”

Gabe left.

“I wasn’t reading to a tree,” Zira whispered. “I wasn’t. He never _listens_ to me.”

Crowley cautiously kissed Zira’s forehead. “It’s alright, Angel. It’s alright.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Hospital setting, references to previous violence, references to potential violence, internalised victim blaming. ASD/PTSD.

“Crowley!” Newt chased him down in the corridor.

Crowley turned around, his shoulders tightening. “The police kicked me out. I wanted to stay with Zira, but they wouldn’t let me... sure I was uncomfortable, but I would have stayed if they let me, I would have!”

Newt’s expression clouded, and then softened. He held up his hands. “Of course you would have... I wasn’t intending to imply otherwise. But I do have to ask...Are you sure about this Sussex plan? That you can look after Zira?”

Crowley leaned against the wall and stared at the floor. “Newt, please... I can’t keep proving myself to you. I _promise_ that I... ”

But Newt was shaking his head. “Crowley, _I know_ you love Zira. That’s not even a question. But, you aren’t well, yourself, yet. You’ve barely started turning things around and... caring for Zira, in some remote house with no accessibility features? Honestly, I’d have reservations about this, even if Zira _weren’t_ practically catatonic. Maybe I should put in my resignation and come with you...”

“But Newt, you love your job, your career...”

  
“I wouldn’t _have_ a career without Zira,” Newt replied softly. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if...anyway. The point is that I owe him...”

Crowley sighed, and managed to look up. “I don’t doubt that you love Zira too, Newt. But, I can handle this. He’s my... he’s my world and this is on me. Doing this is what loving him means right now... and I’m doing it.”

“Can you, though?” Newt asked. “I know you’ll try, and lord knows, you are stubborn enough but...What about the ulcer? We just got through promising the hospital staff we’d see his GP tomorrow for a wound treatment plan....”

“So, I’ll find a GP in Sussex!” Crowley shrugged. “We’re going to the South Downs, not the South Pole! I’m sure they’ll have the requisite leeches at the local apothecary! It will be fine. I’ll do what I have to do. I _won’t_ let Zira down.”

Newt paused for a moment before continuing. “I’m not doubting your commitment, Crowley. But... things could get bad. And, If you do get sick and overwhelmed...? If there’s blood and sick everywhere, and you’ve run out of food and you’ve accidentally set the kitchen on fire? _That_ will be the moment that Sandy arrives with the police doing a welfare check.”

Crowley growled “Oh that’s right! Thanks for reminding me. I knew I forgot to do something...”

“What?”

“I forgot to _fucking murder_ Sandy! Oh, well! No time like the present. I’ll just have to pop down to the local chainsaw shop. Brb! Keep an eye out for Bentley, will you?... I mean, what the hell? Can you imagine having _that_ much money, and being willing to do that to _anybody_ \- let alone your own _brother_ , let alone _Zira_!- just to have a little more money? I can’t... what’s wrong with these people, Newt?”

  
  


Newt shook his head. “I feel like should have seen this coming. Or something like it. Sandy’s behavior has been escalating ever since you and Zira started dating, and he saw his control slipping. When you did that end-run and went straight to Gabe? I should have _known_ he’d try something like this. And I wasn’t joking about this welfare check, Crowley. If Sandy can find a way to turn this against you, he _absolutely_ will...”

“I know!” Crowley threw up his hands. “But, what else are we supposed to do, Newt? Go back home, and wait for Hastur to come kill us? Order him a ‘thank you for dropping by to murder us’ gift-basket while we’re at it? This is the only plan we have. I know you don’t like Gabe, I don’t think I do, either, but he’s not wrong. Zira will be safer in Sussex, away from Hastur, and he will be well cared for in Sussex, because I’ll die before I do otherwise. I _promise_. I’m not letting him down again.”

“Crowley, and what about you? What about your psychologist and your nutritionist and your routine?”

“I’ll be fine,Newt. I’ll eat!”

“Have you eaten since you got that call from the vet nurse? Anything? A chocolate bar? A biscuit?”

“Oh, that’s not fair! Today has been... “

“And tomorrow will be, too,” Newt sighed.“And the day after.”

“We’ll call you twice a day,” Crowley replied. “Video call, so I can’t bullshit you that everything’s fine, when the kitchen’s actually on fire.”

Newt nodded. “I have Tuesday off. I’ll see if I can get Wednesday too, and come down and help you. At least, a bit...”

  
  


Then, they both got a text from Ana.

**_Ana:_ **

**_Intern gave me Bentley. Quite allergic to dogs. Gabe is a tyrant! Have raided the chemist for supplies for Z & C to go to Sussex. Not much available, but better than nothing._ **

“Right,” Crowley replied aloud. “Right. We’re doing this. I’m doing this. I can do this.”

Newt pulled him into a hug.

“Newt, what are you doing?”

“We’re bonding. It’s a crisis, and we are bonding”

“You are a deeply weird man, Newt.”

“Shut up, Crowley.”

* * *

  
Crowley put the canvas bag on the kitchen counter.  


The cottage had been hurriedly cleaned, in preparation for their arrival. It smelt strongly of cleaner, which wasn’t much of a problem, but patches of the floor boards were still wet, which rather _had been_ a problem.  


Crowley had helped Zira across the wet floor to the bedroom and then abandoned him on the duvet to quickly unpack what little they had with them.

Ana had purchased toiletries, a collection of sterile dressings, Zira’s antibiotics, and a baffling quantity of jelly beans. Additionally, a hamper of ‘groceries’ had arrived with the town car, but it seems to be filled with things picked out at random by someones personal assistant, wandering through the food court of Harrods. There were four different kinds of chocolate-covered berries, a selection of exotic jams, champagne, and after-dinner mints, but no, say, bread or milk.  


Crowley found an curiously posh looking package of dried pear slices at the back of the hamper, and decided to take them back to Zira and Bentley. 

Bentley had climbed on the bed and curled up on the lace duvet. Her eyes were closed, but there was too much tension in her body for her to be sleeping.   


Zira had stripped off his clothes, and wrapped himself in a blanket instead. “You don’t mind, do you?” Zira whispered. “Those clothes smelled like _him,_ and, I couldn’t bear it a moment longer...”

This was a longer sentence than Zira had managed through the whole car trip. 

“Of course, I don’t mind,” Crowley said. “We just don’t have anything to change you into. Here.” Crowley pulled off his own shirt and handed it over to Zira. He was instantly cold, almost _always_ cold, these days, but it was fine. Worth it.

Zira held the shirt against his face for a moment, but didn’t put it on. “I’d...like to shower first, I think. No shower chair or hand rails here, so it’s bound to be a fairly ungainly process. But, needs must... Might save me some dignity if you don’t watch...”

Crowley huffed our a breath of air. “Angel. Let me _help_ you...”

“You don’t _have_ to...”

“I _want_ to help you. I can come in the shower with you. Help support you. We’ll be alright.”

Zira sighed. “I’m too heavy, my dear. And, you aren’t well. I’ll pull you over, hurt us both.”

“I will _not_ let you fall,” Crowley insisted. “Zira, please let me help you. Trust me. Talk to me. What happened today?”

Zira looked away, picking anxiously at the duvet. “Hastur made me catch the bus...”

“It was the middle of the day,” Crowley replied gently. “A busy street. I don’t understand...” 

Zira shrugged and got a far away look on his face suggesting he was plotting a trek to the shower.

Crowley sighed, holding out an arm to help. It was then he caught sight of the bruises. Fingertip bruises in Zira’s thigh. Unthinkingly, Crowley reaches out and placed his own fingers over the bruises.

“Please don’t!” Zira gasped, pulling away from Crowley’s amateur forensics, looking haunted.

“Zira..what...?”

“Hastur made me take the bu...”

“Please stop _saying_ that!” 

“But, that’s what _happened_ ,” Zira muttered, quietly. “You _asked_. That’s what happened. A bus. Then another, and another, and then...”

He didn’t finish, though. Perhaps he couldn’t.

Crowley tried not to look at the bruises anymore. He should have waited. Maybe tomorrow...“Do you want some dried pear? We  have that or marmalade, or cheese, or jelly beans, for some reason.”

Zira stared at the wall. “I’m not a brave man, Crowley. I don’t think I’ve ever claimed to be, but... anyway. Today I... People were in danger today, Crowley. Because of me. Hastur was... people were in danger from him, because I didn’t get off that last bus. Good people, Crowley. People who were kind. Who helped me. I’ve always been short of courage. Short of _fight_. But today, I...And...I’m so _tired_ , Crowley.... I... failed today, and...I’m so tired.”

Crowley gently shredded a strip of dried pear with his fingers. “Angel... you aren’t making any sense. _Of course,_ you are brave. You are here, aren’t you? You did what you had to do. And, of course, you are tired. But, we’ll get you a shower, and some dried pear and cheddar, some sleep if you can and... it will look better in the morning. Easier. No one else was hurt in the end, and, most importantly, _you_ are safe. That’s _all_ that matters.”

“It’s _not!”_ Zira whispered. “That’s not all...” 

But Crowley wasn’t having it. Couldn’t _stand_ it. Not after getting Zira back safely. After all those hours of terror. Of imagining one horror after another. It felt dangerous to question a thing. Like being safe, together, was an unlikely and fragile fate, they’d chanced into. A miracle that fate would shatter at the slightest temptation. “Shhh... Angel. Everything’s all right.”

And Zira did hush, but a little more completely than Crowley had hoped. Crowley helped him to the shower, in near silence, and sat on the floor with him. He handed over torn strips of pear and little cubes of cheese, which Zira ate mechanically.  


  
  


Then, he helped him back to the bed, a profound fatigue working its way into Crowley’s muscles and his heart. He crawled in to the bed beside Zira. Not touching him was unbearable. He reached out with the lightest of touches, and Zira collapsed towards him, shaking, but silent. 

Crowley held him. “I was so frightened today. So frightened we’d lose you. That _I’d_ lose you. I can’t imagine it... I couldn’t bear it.”

“I didn’t get off the last bus,” Zira whispered. 

“I know, Angel. I know. And, _thank you_. Thank you for staying safe. For coming home to me.”

Zira didn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Unfortunately the next chapter might be a little delayed. I am having a CXL procedure tomorrow, and recovery times can be variable, apparently. I will post it as soon as I can...


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: discussion of / spoilers for Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty, PTSD/ASD, reference to nightmares, reference to spiders, internalised ableism, reference to eating disorder, missing parent, caretaker burnout. 
> 
> Potentially even more typos than usual! (Eye surgery and all!)

Crowley woke to the sound of some sort of unfamiliar bird song, an instant cue that he was not in London. Twenty four hours ago, Zira had been making him crepes and talking about the domestication of wheat.  
  


Crowley whistled softly. That... was a long 24 hours.  
  


Zira was rolled towards him. He looked peaceful asleep, and it made Crowley’s heart ache. He listened to him breathe. Breathed with the same rhythm. Ghosted just finger tips on Zira’s sleeping palm. Then, he got up.

Bentley opened an eye, and looked conflicted, when Crowley reached the bedroom door. Crowley signaled for her to stay. She got up, anyway. Crowley was acutely aware they had no dog food. He’d have to pour through the hamper, and see if there was anything leftin there not coated with chocolaty dog poison. He grabbed his phone, to google whether dogs could eat jelly beans. The battery indicator was red. He didn’t have a phone charger. A low panic settled into his stomach.  
  


In the kitchen, he found a hand-written note from the cottage caretaker. A phone number was included, along with ‘ _if you need anything_ ’ in loopy script. Crowley hoped they meant it literally, and dialled. He lefta detailed message regarding the ‘anythings’ they needed on the voicemail he reached, along with a wild promise that Gabe would reimburse them for everything. Ana and Newt has given Crowley every scrap of cash on them when they parted at the hospital. It came to about 65 pound.  
  


I should call Newt with the rest of the phone charge, Crowley thought. He’ll panic otherwise, quit his job, like he said.   
  


_I’ll ruin a man’s career for want of a phone charger...  
  
_

It just didn’t feel _sensible_ , though. Crowley compromised with a quick text.

**All’s well. Will call later, once we are settled**

He fed Bentley half a packet of water crackers, and then checked over the rest of the cottage. There was little of note, 

  
  
  
...except for a tiny bedroom in the back. Barely big enough for the bed and the tall bookshelf. The room screamed Zira, felt haunted, and knocked the breath from Crowley’s chest.

A photo frame caught Crowley’s eye. Zira, as a child, sweet-faced and cherubic, and a blonde woman, half smiling, her eyes far away. The woman’s face was both unfamiliar and familiar, one of her hands hovered just above Zira’s shoulder. Crowley hesitated, but then picked up the frame, studied it. Age had washed cyan and yellow tones from the print. Zira’s hair looked a strange steely grey, and the woman’s drab dress had probably once been duck egg blue. Crowley slipped the frame into his pocket. He should get this scanned. Colour restored. Maybe try it himself. It had been precious, once.

Behind the photo frame, he found a dusty hardcover book. The dust jacket was missing and the patterned cover looked too old to be contemporary with Zira’s childhood. Crowley read the gold type printing on the spine.    


  
  


_Black Beauty_. A bookmark was nestled most of the way through. Crowley opened to that page and saw it was the moment that Beauty saw his friend Ginger, dead, in the back of the cart. It was the exact page that a young Crowley had lost patience with the book, threw it across the room, and refused to finish it. 

Crowley placed the book back on the book shelf, but kept the picture frame with its photo with him. He didn’t want to spring it on Zira though, so he left it on the kitchen counter. 

He grabbed the rest of the water crackers, a knife and a pot of blackberry jam and went back to the bedroom.

  
  


“Awake, Angel? Sleep well?”

  
  


Zira’s eyes flickered. “Bad dream. These pale spiders, crawling...”

Crolwy stroked his hair, and placed the crackers and jam on the bed. “Closest to breakfast food I could find, Angel,” he announced in the cheeriest tone he could muster.

Zira streched sleepily. “My, we are roughing it, aren’t we? But I’m afraid I must visit the lavatory first...” He reached for his artificial leg.

Crowley did, thank goodness, suppress the urge to snatch it out of his reach, but Zira did not miss the false start.

“I... you aren’t supposed to wear that, “ Crowley muttered, defensively under Zira’s glare. “The doctor said last night. The ulcer... the infection....”

Zira gestured around the room. “I am aware. But alas, the alternative options remain in London, and nature calls, regardless. I’ll take it straight back off. A minute or two won’t matter...”

“Maybe you don’t have to get up at all? ” Crowley suggested, softly. “I’m sure I could find a pot we aren’t to attached to, and...” It was the wrong thing to say.

“No,” Zira replied, flatly, and withdrew from the conversation, finished rolling up the sleeve and lurched towards the bathroom. He looked stiff, off balance, the leg hissed for a few paces as the suction suspension established. Zira clutched then bathroom doorway for support. 

Crowley busied himself spreading jam onto water crackers so he wouldn’t cry.

Eventually though, Zira returned with more equilibrium, did, indeed, remove his leg, and took the two little crackers Crowley had prepared. One he ate, and the other he passed to Bentley.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Crowley said. “She’s has the other half of the packet.”

Zira blinked. “Then what did you eat?”

Crowley considered lying, but decided that was a bad start to this. Instead, he made himself a jam cracker and popped the whole thing on his mouth at once, regretted it instantly, but stubbornly chewed and swallowed.

* * *

By some miracle, the caretaker turned up at 11, with a box of actual staples, two phone chargers, some serviceable cheap clothes, and a wheelchair and crutches hired from the chemist in some local village.

Crowley gratefully handed over the sixty five pounds he had and promised he’d get Gabe to direct deposit the rest, once his phone was charged. What he’d do if Gabe refused, he had no idea. Beg from Ana, probably. Or ask Newt, who he believed had paid Zira’s bills, while Zira was in the hospital.

He unpacked the groceries, leaving out enough for lunch. He hesitated over the dog food. Zira would be apoplectic if he saw it. He always insisted on getting Bentley the expensive stuff that marketed itself as ‘human grade’.  


Eventually, Crowley decided he would feed it to her, but would supplement with the chicken breasts and carrots from the groceries, for some plausible deniability. And when Newt came down on Tuesday, he would no doubt be willing to scour the south of England for Bentley’s brand. Because it would make Zira happy. 

“I really ought to figure out what sort of blood debt Uncle Newt owes your Dad, shouldn’t I, Bentley?”

Bentley’s expression indicated that he really ought to feed her, already.

Crowley did, and then dialled Newt, the phone still attached to the wall. He expected voicemail, but instead got frantic Newt, and so he switched on the camera, pointing it at the pile of groceries and the not-enflamed kitchen. 

Audibly relieved, Newt apologized for not switching on his own camera - he was in a clients house and felt it inappropriate- and gave a brief lecture on the disadvantages of cheap crutches and wheelchairs for travelling any distance.

“At the moment, the key problem is the twelve feet from bed to bathroom,” Crowley explained, tiredly. 

“Are you sure you are alright?” Newt replied. “I wish I had more vacation and carer days, only I...”

“... used them all, when my friend caved your friend’s head in,” Crowley finished for him. “I’m aware.”

“I wish I’d been kinder to you then,” Newt replied, tightly. “Then maybe you’d believe me when I say this isn’t your fault.”

“Newt, we’re good. Honestly. You and me, I mean. Zira and me too, actually. Now we have crutches and eggs.”

Newt sighed. “Had Zira said anything about Sandy? What Gabe said about Sandy? And Hastur?”  
  


“No.”

  
  


“Just, be careful there, Crowley. There’s... a lot of history, between the three of them. Zira’s going to struggle with this.”

Crowley nodded, and then on impulse snatched up the photo frame. “Is this Zira’s mum in the picture?”

“Yeah, that’s her. But Crowley, be careful _there_ , too.”

“She’s been dead a while, yeah?”

“She’s.... been gone a while. Disappeared. Declared dead, but never found. I suppose you never know with rich people. Maybe they _can_ just disappear... and I think, deep down, Zira believes she’s still alive. He’d never say, but... just... tread carefully yeah?”

Crowley nodded. “Sure. What’s one more thing to be careful about?” Then, he flinched at himself.

Newt’s face twisted in sympathy. “You don’t have to be a saint, Crowley....”

“I’m going to go, yeah? Breakfast was a bit rubbish, so I’m going to make a really nice lunch. I’ll call this evening, yeah?”


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: sexual content, PTSD/ASD, victim blaming, ableism, internalised ableism, triggered anxiety attack.

Zira didn’t have a mirror in his bedroom in London. But this room had never been his bedroom, before this past night. It _did_ have a mirror, and so he couldn’t avoid his eyes own eyes.

_You need to get up. You can’t behave like this. You KNOW you can’t. What even happened? You caught a few buses you didn’t want to catch. A few small bruises. You can’t let yourself slip, after everything, over that. How ridiculous would that be? How would anyone understand?_

_And Crowley. You need to get up, and make sure he eats. Even if you can’t quite be yourself... Even if you can’t face all of this at once- swallow it whole- you can SMILE. And, you can get up, you can be nice, and you can make sure he eats._

_Or else, what good are you?_

Zira eyed the hired wheelchair, and hated it. Wished for his own chair. The foldable steel frame of this one would be heavy and unresponsive. The back and seat, unpadded and unraked, would be inconveniet and uncomfortable. He could see from here that the spokes were badly in need of maintenance. But worst, it was _wide,_ and the door and hallways were _narrow_. An aching lumbar spine, and badly jammed fingers, were inevitably in his future.

  
  


_Crowley_. This shimmering, dragonfly of a man, who had taken yet another leap into the inconvenient, and into the unknown, for Zira’s sake.  


And yet, Zira was _forgetting_. He _knew_ he was. The little glances, the smiles, the thanks. The nods, the touches. The tiny kindnesses. He was forgetting to do them and they were _important_. Missing them was...

  
  


Zira had an almost visceral reaction to the word _disrespectful._ Still, after all these years, when he heard it in his head, he would here it shouted, in his father’s voice. And he would feel a phantom stab of anxiety, to accompany that hateful echo.

He remembered an evening, once, drinking with Newt and Ana. Their drunken topic, the word they would most like banned. Newt had picked the perennially popular “moist”. Ana refused to play at first, and nobly banned all slurs equally, but, when told the common good didn’t count, that the game was pet peeves only, she had selected “doll face”.  


Zira, despite going last, was drunk enough to still be caught unawares, and without thinking, said ‘disrespectful’, and was rightly side-eyed by his booze-soaked friends. He’d tried to _explain_. How it was too powerful for such a non-specific word. How, along with its evil twin ‘inappropriate’, all manner of boundaries and little freedoms, were banned, along with those things _actually_ antisocial.

The truth was far more banal, of course. _Disrespectful_ was the name given to Zira’s deficiencies. To his daydreaming, to his tendency to tip toe around ant trails, rather than go smushing through. To his confused fear of looking at the sky, after being told staring at the sun would damage his eyes. To his quietness. To his questions. To his _queerness_.

  
  


_Disrespect_ was the name of Zira’s original sin. And, believing that he did respect them- his parents, his brothers - it was an original sin he’d had no idea how to address. If they’d just straight out ordered him to be less _himself_ , he might have been able to please them better.

Regardless. Crowley deserved kindness, deserved... respect. And so, Zira pulled on an unfamiliar polo shirt and track suit, transferred to the unpleasant wheelchair, pulled on a smile, and set himself to conquering the geometry of the doorway and corridor.

Crowley, flame-haired and stunning, was making lunch. A plate of cold cuts, cheese, tomatoes, and bread. “Cold, again, I’m sorry,” he said, over his shoulder, smiling at Zira. “A nice, hot soup tonight, I promise. It will take me until then to chop everything! There’s so much chopping, in cooking, isn’t there? I thought it would be all spices and stuff, but it’s actually all chopping!”

Zira considered his options. Talking, or sex?  


He was certain that ‘talking’ was probably the _correct_ answer. The one he’d tell a survey taker, give as advice to a friend, or put on on a test. But, there was more room for error, in sex. Less chance of inflicting an accidental cruelty. At least, in Crowley’s case.

  
Not easier, exactly, but _simpler_. Worth a try.

There was no point attempting a sexy glide over to Crowley’s location on _this_ unwieldy beast, and so Zira tempered his demenour to ‘eager’ and ‘cheerful’, rather than ‘suave’.

“Never mind the cold lunch. I’m glad, actually, there’s nothing on the stove,” he said. “Less danger in distracting you.”

After quickly checking that his hands on Crowley’s waistband had been eagerly received, Zira wasted no time sliding his fingers inside. “Never really been fond of track suit bottoms until just this moment. I’ve just discovered the most extraordinary up-side.”

Crowley laughed huskily, and bit his lip. 

_Oh good_ , Zira thought. _Easy_.

“I’m trying to feed you, Angel...”

“Yes, yes,” Zira replied playfully sliding the waistband down. “Feeding me. Hmm. Indeed. I _quite_ agree.”

Crowley hissed. “We’ve talked about this one-sided stuff... you _never_ let me even the score...”

“Who’s keeping score?” Zira laughed, easily. _Lied_ really, because Zira _absolutely_ kept score. Keeping the “head count” well in Crowley’s favour was exactly how Zira liked it. 

“Ahhh.... you make me feel so greedy,” Crowley moaned, shuddering and straining under the sensation of Zira’s lips. 

“ _You’re_ greedy?” Zira whispered, and applied his energy to the task, at hand. 

  
  


It was a matter of very careful concentration on what he was doing. Fully and completely experiencing every sense. Crowley’s beautiful planes, his smell, his taste, his whispered hisses and moans. Staying fully in this moment. Not letting any other, _uninvited_ moments in.

Not thinking about white spiders.

  
  


Crowley’s face made strange twitches when Zira hummed. His thigh muscles fluttered. He didn’t know what do with his hands. “Zira....” Crowley mewled. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you...”

“Would you like to fuck me?” Zira replied, brightly. _That_ could work, plenty of sensation to focus on there. Zira would have to summon his own erection, of course, Crowley was _not_ the type of lover not to notice. But, that felt possible. He was getting there, anyway. Almost. “Or, you could come on me? My arse? You like that... or my face?”

A little too far, perhaps. Zira saw Crowley open his eyes and try to catch Zira’s gaze.“Your face?”

“If you want... or just fuck my thighs, if it’s too much effort...” Zira spoke quickly, minimizing the disruption to his rhythm.  
  
  
  


“I _do_ love your thighs...” Crowley whined breathily. “So beautiful, creamy, soft....”

“Right here, if you like...” Zira whispered. _Why not? Kitchen floor! Plenty of sensations to focus on. Wood grain. Fallen crumbs. Plenty of ‘now’ to drown out the..._

  
  


“...Just pull me down, and... experience the access advantages of tracksuits.”

“But, are you all right?” Crowley wheezed. “You seem a little...?”

“What?”

Crowley seemed to be struggling to come up with the word, and Zira was purposefully as distracting as possible.

“....a little _frenetic_?” 

Zira changed tack. Instead of trying to tease Crowley to the floor, Zira widened and deepened his throat, he sealed and he sucked.  
  


Not vomiting took a _great deal_ of concentration. Which was _perfect_.

  
  


Crowley was no long term match for this, and Zira knew it. He rested his left hand gently on Crowley’s hip, in preparation, and within seconds, Crowley bucked against it, shuddering again, gasping.  
  


Zira swallowed, rested his forehead momentarily again Crowley’s abdomen, before looking up and smiling. “Delicious! Thank you!”  
  


Crowley didn’t laugh, he looked worried. Zira smiled harder.  
  


“Angel, I....”

“Is that pastrami? I’ve not had pastrami in years... We must give some to Bentley, must we? Water crackers are no proper breakfast for such a dear, good girl...”

“I....” Crowley paused. “I.... fed her, already. Some chicken and carrots.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear. You take such care of us, my de..” Zira saw the picture frame, then. Of him and his mother. He’d just, unknowingly, blown his boyfriend, _right in front_ of a photo of his mother. He barked out a shocked laugh.

  
  


Crowley followed his gaze and froze. Looking stricken.

  
Zira forced himself to laugh. “Did you put that there? That’s _quite_ the kink, although I suppose I did surprise you...”

  
Crowley tried to smile, but looked away. “Zira... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that... I should have _stopped_ you...”

  
Zira’s heart twisted. “But... why?”

  
Crowley still wouldn’t look at him. ”With these things Sandy is saying about you. About us. We should be more _cautious_.”   
  


Zira exhaled heavily. “Well, I don’t see what’s so _incautious_ about two consenting adults, making love, in their own kitchen! Do you want us to don orange vests and safety glasses?”  
  


  
  
  
“You know what I mean, Zira...”

  
  


”I _don’t_!”

”... you aren’t making good decisions, right now. You got on a bus with a man who beat you half to death, _yesterday_! And Angel, it’s not your fault. You have a brain injury, and he scares you, but... you have to admit, that was a... _strange_ decision.”

  
  


Zira’s jaw locked. He doubted he’d have been able to think of a reply, even if it hadn’t.   
  
  
  


Crowley must have mistaken his silence for thoughtfulness, because he kept... _talking_. “Now, I’m not accusing you of anything... but, I keep feel like I’m missing something, between you and Hastur. That _bite_ he gave you, when he attacked you...you going off with him yesterday. I know you must have seen him around, when you worked at the soup kitchen, while I was... _away_. _Was_ there something between you? Anything? I won’t be angry if there was. We weren’t together then, in any meaningful sense. Angel, honestly! I love you _so much_ , and I only want to understand, so I can help you. Take care of you. Maybe it was even one-sided? Or just flirting? I don’t know. But, if this is going to all get pawed through by lawyers, wouldn’t it be better if you just told me? Helped me understand? Zira?”

Zira didn’t even think about replying, however. Suddenly, Zira couldn’t breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the well-wishes! So far, so good on the recovery.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Ableism, reference to eating disorder, animal in distress, invisible disability/medical condition erasure, PTSD/ASD symptoms, traumatic memories, the ‘justice’ system being A+ with victims.

Crowley opened the cottage door. Newt looked cold, and otherwise, very much like a man who had worked a full day, and then, driven three hours to the middle of nowhere.

“Heater gone in your car, again?” Crowley asked.

Newt nodded, before pushing past Crowley seeking the fireplace.

Bentley whooped with delight at the sight of Newt. And not just because he was carrying a bag of her preferred dog food. And not just because the last several hours had been closed doors and silence, punctuated by occasional soft sobbing. Which, Crowley gathered, was something akin to Labrador purgatory.

Crowley poured a cup of tea, brewed as an unsuccessful lure for Zira, and pressed it into Newt’s grateful hands.

“Explain this to me again?” Newt asked, when his teeth stopped chattering.

“I told you I could do it. Take care of him. That I wouldn’t let him down. And, I didn’t make it _24 hours_ ,” Crowley replied softly.

“I’m making you toast,” Newt said, suspiciously. “I just need to _defrost_ for... I’m making ustoast in _one minute_ , and we are going to sit down, to eat together. Only... explain this to me again?”

Crowley sniffed. “I was making lunch. I was going to make soup. I’d called the caretaker, got food, got clothes, got the wheelchair, and... _oh fuck!_ I forgot to ask Gabe to sent the rest of the money!”

“I’ll sort that,” Newt interrupted, gently. “You were saying though, you were making lunch...?”

“And Zira came in, and he was being... well, you know how he gets, and... well, you probably _don’t_ know, actually. But, when he’s in the mood for it, he just... he looks at you like you’re the most wonderful thing in the word, like you’re extraordinary, and beautiful, and like just touching you is... anyway, he seemed okay. _Ish_. He seemed _okayish_. And, I should have stopped it, but I... he’s _sensitive_ , and I didn’t want to... anyway, we had sex...”

Newt blinked. “Right...”

“No, see, you are furious with me _already_ , I knew you’d be furious...”

“Crowley, I’m just trying to find out what happened. If you want me to help, I need to...”

“I... I don’t _know_ what happened! Things just got really weird, really fast... that photo I showed you. And, he was acting strange. Something was off... and so, I tried to ask about... and then, I think I implied that...”

Newt sighed, and massaged his forehead. “Crowley, I am trying to maintain a strategic reserve of patience, here...”

“Okay! Fine! I let him suck me off, then I implied that he was too incompetent to be having sex, and then, I asked if he’d sucked off Hastur in the past. _Basically_. Succinct enough for you? Furious yet??” Crowley shut his mouth with a start, and swallowed.

The whites were visible all the way around Newt’s eyes. “Right... well... um... _wha_...but why, though? _Why_? **WHY** would you do that?”

“I _didn’t_ do that!” Crowley replied, tearfully. “Or, I wasn’t trying to do that. I was _trying_ to be careful about Sandy, like you said, and I was trying to understand this thing with Hastur. You don’t... he never talks about it to me. _Never_. How am I supposed to...? I mean _nothing,_ Newt. He doesn’t tell me _anything_.”

“Yeah,” Newt sighed. “Zira... doesn’t talk about this stuff. About trauma. The stuff he’s been through. I don’t think he knows how. Or maybe he does, but doesn’t know how to trust us enough to _hear_ him. It’s not just you. He doesn’t talk to me either. And, it’s not _easy_. I know you are trying. I mean yeah, god, I wish you thought a little more, before spoke sometimes...but, it’s hard. I know.”

“You aren’t mad at me,” Crowley sniffled. “Why aren’t you mad?”

Newt shook his head with a small, sad smile. “Because, this one is on _me_ , Crowley. I knew. I knew how hard this would be, for _anyone_. For even a healthy person. And, I knew how _fragile_ you were...”

“Feeling a bit _patronized_ over here, Newt.”

“Yeah. I know. And, I’m sure Zira felt really ‘patronized’ by you. And, I’m sorry. And, _you’re_ sorry. And, no doubt, Zira will be devastated, when he hears I’ve turned in my notice. But... but... _something_. But we all keep talking, and caring, and _trying_ , and then... something.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Okay. If you say so. I honestly don’t see how, but...Can you go check on Zira now, please? He will not open the door for me, and I am freaking out.”

“After you eat some toast.”

“You can’t make me toast, first, Newt. You’re _his_ friend. He’ll think you’re taking my side.”

“Keeping you eating is being Zira’s side, too, Crowley. There is little in this world Zira wants more than seeing you healthy, however hurt he is feeling just now. If he feels betrayed, then he can tell me so, and I’ll explain. But I’m making you toast, and tea, and that’s final.”

Crowley sighed. “You know, I could literally go the rest of my life, perfectly happy, and NEVER have another conversation about food. _Ever again_.”

Newt put his hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know, mate. I know.”

* * *

After toast, Newt went to coax Zira out of the bathroom, and Crowley took Bentley on a long overdue walk.

Newt had seemed concerned about him, but had relented when Crowley promised ‘no purging’ and had even lent Crowley his coat against the chill, and a tow rope from his car to serve as Bentley’s leash, once Crowley realised he didn’t have one.

Bentley skittered a little, at first, the countryside was unfamiliar to her, and the dark didn’t help, but she soon settled, and even became cautiously enthusiastic about exploring a whole symphony of new sounds and smells. At least, until a rabbit screamed nearby, and she all but leapt into Crowley’s arms as a quivering mass of limbs and fur.

“Hush now, lovely girl,” Crowley crooned. “Shall we go back? Face the music? _My_ music. Not _your_ music. You don’t make bad music, do you darling? Although, there was that cushion you ate...”

Bentley stared at him.

“... oh, quite right. It was a pillow, not a cushion. I promised your dad I wouldn’t get that wrong in future, didn’t I? I promised him a lot of things. _So many_ things, Bentley, and I...”

Bentley looked very much like she would like to tug on her tow rope in the direction of home, except that she happened to be slightly geographically embarrassed just now.

“I... I still don’t understand, Bentley. I’m trying so hard. It might not look it, but... I’m trying. But, however hard I... I still get it wrong. And, I can only ever figure out how I’ve gone wrong hours too late, if I can ever understand it at all...”

Crowley quickly wiped a tear away. He reached to massage Bentley’s cheek how she liked and she licked his hand. “I’m not sure I deserve you, Bentley. But... I love you.You’re a good girl. You’re my good girl. _Our_ good girl.”

Bentley brightened at the words ‘good girl’ and licked his hand.

Crowley stood, straightened his shoulders, and pointed them back toward the cottage. 

* * *

Newt tapped the bathroom door gently.

“Zira, open the door.”

There was no immediate answer. Newt elected not to let this panic him.

“Come on Zira. You know how this goes. If you don’t open the door, eventually I won’t be able to keep my imagination under control, and then I will break the door. And then, the bathroom won’t have a proper door, and so I’ll try to fix the door. And I’ll make a total bodge of it, but you’ll be too polite to say, and it will never be fixed, until at least one of us dies. So, isn’t it easier? To just open the door? Please?”

The lock clicked.

Lacking tissues, Zira appeared to have cried his way though about half a bog roll. Once, that was, he had managed to calm down enough to cry. But, there was no sign of physical injury, and Newt let go of a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Based on what Crowley said, I don’t think you actually got lunch,” Newt mused softly. “Are you hungry?”

Zira nodded slowly. 

“Come out and eat something. Crowley took Bentley on a walk.”

Zira sniffed. “Is he okay?” he asked. “Crowley?”

Newt sighed. “Zira, he’s... heartbroken, and devastated, and confused, and still _so_ unwell. I apologized to him, sort of, anyway. And, I should to you as well. I should never have put the two of you in this situation. I mean, don’t get me wrong. 24 hours and the sky falls in! That’s... _efficient_. But... you two both need love and support right now. It’s not the time to work without a net.”

“Oh, Newt,” Zira’s eyes swam. “But, your job!”

“There will be other jobs,” Newt replied. “Jobs might not be easy to replace, but, they are easier to replace than Ziras are. And I’m in the highly privileged position of having a rich doctor for a girlfriend, and a cinnamon roll for a landlord.”

Zira nodded. Nodded harder. Started to cry again.

“Let’s get you something to eat. You’re no good without blood sugar, and you know it.”

“I don’t understand how he could _say_ that, Newt,” Zira sobbed, all at once. “How he could _think_ that, about me? I’m trying so hard, and I love him so much, and I’ve forgiven him again and again, and... how could he SAY that those things to me? Newt... I’m so... so _angry_!”

“Yeah... he said _some stuff_ ,” Newt sighed. “You need to talk to him, though, Zira. You need to _tell him_. You can’t just pretend to be okay. You have to tell him you _aren’t_ okay. It’s not the same thing. They aren’t interchangeable. You have to...”

“Hastur,” Zira finished, bleakly. “I can’t, Newt. I... don’t _remember_ it...”

“Is it possible you remember more than you are saying?”

“I don’t know! That’s the bloody long and short of it! It’s all flashes, and out of order, and feelings, instead of proper memories. And, I’m not sure what’s real and what isn’t and some of it can’t be right, but I remember it anyway. And, apparently, that could be trauma, or just old fashioned brain damage, or both and I might never remember it all properly. And that was all before Friday. And, even if I do manage to wrangle it in to some sort of... _narrative_ , that may bear little or no relationship to _reality_. I’ll never really KNOW. And it isn’t _fair_! I told all this to that crown prosecutor lady, you know. And, she just told me not to worry. That she would send me a copy of the statement I gave at the time and I could just stick to that and everything would be fine. But, it’s not fine! It’s not! It’s eating me alive, because I don’t _know_!”

Newt sighed. “Oh, _Zira_. I’m so sorry. You feeling up to a hug? Would that be helpful or unhelpful?”

Zira hiccuped. “Helpful.”

“Do you feel like you’ll be able to tell me if it turns out not to be helpful? Do you trust me to hear you and respect that.”

“Uh huh.”

“Zira, do you have the hiccups?”

“Well, of course I do!” Zira wailed. “Because the universe hates me, so I even though I might feel the worst I ever have, I can’t have any dramatic _dignity_! I have the bloody _hiccups_. Fuck!”

Newt smiled. “Well, then I shall ignore them. These hiccups. And, if you do too, well, there’s no one else here, is there? So, hug?”

Zira felt strangely small in Newt’s arms. “I feel like I want to sleep forever, Newt.”

Again, Newt elected not to panic. “Let’s get a sandwich into you, then try, say, ten hours of sleep? Maybe, ten hours will feel like enough, on the other side of it.”

“All right,” Zira whispered back. “And Newt? Thank you for coming. For coming to save us from each other. From ourselves. I love you. You’re my _real_ brother. And, as long as I have a home, you’ll always have one too. And, I’ll not take another penny of rent from you, ever again. Whatever you say.”

Newt squeezed a little tighter.“I love you too, Zira.”


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: references to insomnia and nightmares, PTSD/ASD symptoms, description of past violence, reference to past Domestic Violence/Abuse, references to eating disorder, reference to past suicidal ideation

Zira spent the night in his childhood bedroom, which was far too small, cramped and narrow, for the wheelchair, making transferring from chair to bed awkward, and a mundane sort of dangerous.  
  


Once actually in the bed, he felt a strange sort of comfort. Not from the mattress, which was, naturally, _ghastly_ , but from a sort of bone-deep familiarity. He supposed Gabe had been right, and he had, once, been happy here.  
  


And he slept. As a child, he’d spent those awful nights after awful days _awake_ , staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning. Churning the events of the day through his mind, and getting more and more anxious about how exhausted he would be the next day. He was perpetually too tired for this these days. He had heard, though, that insomnia often beset one again when one reached old age. Zira wasn’t there yet, although, sometime, when he hadn’t noticed, youth had slipped away from him.  
  


He transferred awkwardly, again, to the chair he’d abandoned by the doorway, released the brake and began to move towards the bathroom.  
  


And almost ran over Crowley and Bentley, who were curled up asleep on the hallway floor.  
  


Zira sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. For a moment, he felt only vague annoyance. He could have slept on the good mattress, after all. Then, a great deal more mixed emotion crashed down upon him.

  
  


He took several long quiet breaths.

  
  


“Crowley, dear. Crowley?”  
  


Crowley stirred, blinked with sleep for a moment or two, and then opened his eyes widely.  
  


He had _no damn business_ being that beautiful.  
  


“I’m sorry to wake you, dear, but... you are rather in my way!”  
  


Crowley gawped at him.  
  


Zira’s lips tightened. He felt... twisted around. “Did Newt approve this sleeping arrangement? You on the floor of the hall?”he asked, as if Newt were a dormitory matron.  
  


“No,” Crowley rasped. “I waited til he fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep so far from you. I... nightmares. You’ve been having nightmares.”  
  


“I slept adequately, thank you,” Zira replied awkwardly.  
  


Crowley had _no damn business_ being so chivalrous.  
  


Bentley got up and shook herself, then rested her chin on Zira’s thigh. Zira stroked her nose gently.  
  


Crowley swallowed. “Zira... I”  
  


“I need the lavatory, Crowley,” Zira sighed. “We can... we can talk in a few minutes.”

  
  


_Talk_. Now just what, in the ever-loving name of god, was Zira going to _say_? He dithered in the bathroom as long as was even remotely plausible, but inspiration did not strike.

  
  


Talk.

  
  


Zira dried his hands meticulously.  
  


_Talk_...  
  


He found Crowley, again, in the kitchen. There were the beginnings of a pot of tea.  
  


“Good morning,” he began, because that seemed an unimpeachable sort of beginning.  
  


Crowley stared. “Angel... I...”  
  


“May I go first, please?” Zira interrupted, even though doing so was ludicrous, given he still had no idea what he wanted to say. “You... you asked me a question, yesterday. I’ve not yet responded.”  
  


Crowley flinched. “I withdraw the question...it was stupid. I don’t know what...”  
  


“It _is_ a very strange question, the way you put it together,” Zira said, his voice tight. “That I went with Hastur because he has some _thrall_ over me, rather than because he threatened me, and innocent members of the public. He had a weapon, you see. That’s why I got on the bloody bus, not because I’m... not because I have a brain injury. But... even if we had been together once, which we _NEVER_ were, why would I even consider going back to someone, who stole from me, and beat me half to death? Who would...”  
  


“My mother,” Crowley interrupted softly. “My mother would do that. _Did_ do that.”  
  


Zira exhaled, unhappily. “Well... I’m sorry that happened. I am.”  
  


“Everyone was sorry,” Crowley muttered. “Didn’t change anything.”  
  


“Do you want to talk about..?”  
  


Crowley shook his head. “One problem at a time, I think. You were explaining about Hastur...”  
  


“Oh no, my dear. I wasn’t. I _can’t_. I don’t know how. I know he broke in, that I confronted him, that he knocked me down. I remember that part. And I know he beat me unconscious, because that’s how I was found. And I remember the start of it. Of the blows starting to fall...

”...But, the other parts are unanchored, and make no sense. There are flashes. He insulted my body. He tore at my clothes and... fondled me. Ripping into me with his teeth. I remember my skin crawling, all the muscles in by back arching. Screaming. Helplessness and humiliation. Fear and shame. But, if you want a detailed accounting of _what_ , let alone _why_... it’s just not to be found in my brain, Crowley...

”...Did you know that whenever we try to remember something, we change it a little by remembering it? It goes back in altered. It’s cruel isn’t it? Nature? That we are only our memory, and yet, those memories are so _smudgable_. But, the fact remains, that if explaining Hastur exactly is a necessary requirement of you staying, I don’t think I’m capable of complying. Not now, and probably not ever. And, I highly doubt it’s possible you hate that more than I hate it.”  
  
  


Crowley nodded slowly. “I... I hear you Zira, I do. I just... the ground keeps shifting between us. I’m always waiting for the next thing. The next crisis. I never feel secure, in control...

“...I thought the food stuff was about the teeth stuff. But, my psychologist said... maybe... control. Security. Something I can...something _within my power_. Zira, I love you...”  
  


“But..?”  
  


Crowley shook his head. “No! No buts...there aren’t any...I love you, and you love me.”  
  


Zira sighed. “But, my dear. Is it time we considered that love might not be enough?”  
  


“No!” Crowley replied. ”Because love isn’t all we have, is it? We have Bentley. And we have a large, if slightly complicated, pot of money to buy therapy with. Cognitive Behaviour therapy, Dialectical Behaviour therapy, EMDR therapy, couples therapy! All of them! And, you are the kindest person there is. And, I’m the stubbornest person there is...”  
  


“You’re tenacious, my dear, not stubborn...”  
  


“See? That! Maybe love isn’t enough, but we have other stuff! The money, and the support...we are _worthy_ of love, both of us, and we have the other stuff to make it work. Newt! We have Newt! And seriously. He’d do anything for you apparently. What on earth is that about, by the way?”  
  


Zira sighed. “That one isn’t my story to tell, Crowley. You’d have to ask Newt.”  
  


“Oh, well we met on a bridge, Crowley,” Newt interrupted from the doorway. “We met on a bridge, at midnight New Years Eve, and you can probably fill in the blanks from there. Sorrynotsorry for eavesdropping, by the way...”

  
  


“Supervising,” Zira said with a small smile. “That’s alright. You _are_ the dorm matron.”  
  


Newt shrugged.“If you say so. Kettle’s boiling, so I’ll do the tea, will I?”  
  


“We were kind of in the middle of something, Newt,” Crowley replied.  
  


“Is this a race? No? Then, it can wait until after some tea and breakfast. Pace yourselves, yeah? Maybe go for a walk?”  
  


Crowley groaned. “You and exercise, mate, I swear.”  
  


Zira pulled a face. “Newt have you seen this wheelchair? It’s not up to the driveway, let alone a walk...“  
  


Newt smiled. “There, see? You are both sedentary house barnacles. So you’ve got _that_ going for you, too.”

* * *

They did go for a walk, in the end. Not far, but enough to catch the wind, the sea air. The winter sun.

  
  


“Zira, I know it’s been... but, I can do _better_. Try _harder_. We can be better. I can’t bear the thought of not being with you. Of letting you go. All I want, is to cling to you, like.. like a...”

  
  


“Baby sloth?”

  
  


” _Baby sloth_?! I think I was going for barnacle... no wait, that’s what Newt said. _Limpet_. That’s it. I was going to say limpet. Want to cling to you like a limpet, not a _baby sloth_?!”

  
  


Zira blinked. “Why would you rather be an aquatic snail than a sweet baby sloth?”

  
  


”A limpet is far more dignified!” Crowley sniffed.

  
  


“It can’t _possibly_ be! And anyway... it’s not just you. _I_ should try harder, as well. I _will_ try harder. I’ll say, ‘ _I feel an irrational sense of shame_ ’ instead of ‘ _I’m fine_ ’ when you ask me how I am. Even though I can’t see what good that could possibly do either of us. I have to try harder as well, Crowley. It’s not fair, otherwise. This isn’t all just on you.”

  
  


Crowley stared into the wind. “Can I kiss you? Is that all right? I know things are... not great, right now. But, I love you, and your eyes in this light are...”

  
  


”Yes. It’s all right.”

The kiss was gentle. Made them both start to cry.

”Can we really fix this?” Crowley asked, as they returned to the cottage.  
  


“I... I hope so,” Zira replied softly. “If we are committed and careful. Take our time.”

  
“Absolutely,” Crowley replied with a sharp nod of his head. “That’s what you need, so that’s what we do. We go very slowly. Very carefully. No sudden movements...”   
  


“That’s... thank you, my dear. That’s what I need, I think. Time, and no sudden movements.”

  
Then, Crowley caught sight of a middle aged red-head standing outside the cottage. “Who the hell is that?”

  
  


“That’s Michael,” Zira replied sounding mystified. “Gabe’s ... oh, I don’t know what she does. Gabe’s Executive Shark?” 

  
  


“Hello!” Michael called, in the tone that a person, who despises children, uses to talk to toddlers. “Gabriel sent me to take you to the registry office, to file your notice of intent to marry.”

“Oh,” Zira replied, flatly. “That.”


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... Chapter 50?!?! This got out of hand...
> 
> Content Advisory: Ableism, Discussion of cancer, Discussion of medical fraud, Crowley uses a slur which misgenders Beez, rhetorical threats, implicit threats of real violence/abuse,

The following morning was a whirlwind of paperwork, finally ending, for Crowley, back at the cottage with a despondent Zira, and a wedding date in a little over three weeks. The legal minimum.

When Michael stepped outside to make a phone call, Crowley fell into a kitchen chair and took Zira’s hand.

“I’m sorry Angel. I know this isn’t what you wanted. You wanted to go slowly, and you wanted a proper proposal, and a proper wedding.I wanted those things for you, too. But, we both need you safe from your brother. So, can this wedding be okay? And can it be enough, for now? Even though it’s not the one you wanted?”

Zira sighed. “It’s not what I wanted, no. Right groom, of course, but also, _quite_ the wrong time. And, I remember when the law changed. And I thought, now I can get married! For love! But... even though I do love you, I’m _actually_ getting married so I can decide who gets to be in charge of me, if my right to be in charge of _myself_ gets stripped away. It’s... it’s a bitter pill, Crowley. And I find myself very tired. I think I need to lie down for a while.”  
  


Crowley forced himself to smile. “That’s a good idea, sweetheart. You do that, and I’ll follow in a few minutes. Rub your shoulders. I just need to make myself eat something first. No skipped meals, remember.”

Zira flinched. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, my dear. Of course, I’ll have lunch with you...”

“I’m fine, Zira. I promise. I’ll eat. Go lie down.”  
  


Crowley made himself a sandwich and wandered off to find Newt as a lunch witness. He found him doing laundry, aggressively.

“Scale of one to ten, how much do you hate this idea?” Crowley asked, as Newt counted socks into the machine.

“Eleven,” Newt muttered. “But, I hate the idea of Sandy legally controlling Zira about twenty-seven hundred, so... you know...”

“I swear, Newt. I think Gabe is right, and Sandy will back off this whole plan ,when he finds out he can’t win, but if worst comes to worst, I’d never do anything to exploit Zira, and I give you complete permission to hit me in the back of a head, with a brick, if I ever do.”  
  


Newt grunted. “I might drive Zira into Brighton this afternoon, if he’s feeling up for it. Help him buy some clothes he actually likes. Maybe see if I can find a better wheelchair for hire... Something that could get him down to the cliffs... maybe the beach? You never know...”

  
  


“That’s... a good idea,” Crowley sighed. “Thank you.”  
  


Newt shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

  
  


Crowley nodded shortly, and went to put his plate in the sink, running into Michael, now off the phone, as he entered the kitchen. “Sorry. Small cottage. Lots of people.”

Michael sniffed. “And there is about to be more. Figuratively, not literally. But, you should know. Sandy’s caught wind of this. He’s preparing to file to have Zira declared incompetent. And we are off to the races!”

“ The... races?” Crowley stammered.

“Oh yes, and _that_ is literal. We need to get you married, before he is successful, or he’ll block the marriage, and Gabe loses. Gabe _hates_ losing...”

“Yeah, well as we know, this is mostly about Gabe! But... that date they gave us was the legal minimum, wasn’t it? Is it not soon enough?”

Michael smiled. “The legal minimum under _normal_ circumstances. In _exceptional_ circumstances...”

“What does ‘exceptional’ mean?”

“Normally, that someone’s dying. Say, hypothetically, that you tell me you really _aren’t feeling well_ today. And say, that I take you do see a doctor friend of mine, and Oh No! You hypothetically have this horrible cancer! Weeks to live, if that! That’s exceptional. And, if you hypothetically happened to experience a miraculous remission? Well, these things do happen...”

“No...” Crowley said. “That’s got to be illegal!”  
  


Michael smirked. “More illegal than vandalizing a building? Care about the law now, do we? Be hard to prove too, that you _knew_ you weren’t dying. How do they prove you don’t actually feel terrible today? You certainly _look_ terrible. Have looked sick for months. And, Imean if a doctor tells you so, who are you to doubt it? And finally, you do realise you stand to become a very rich man if this marriage goes ahead. Enough for what your lot calls ‘rich people justice’ and a pretty damn comfortable life, after your miraculous recovery.”

“I’m not going to implicate Zira in some shoddy conspiracy for any amount of money!”

“Well, I suppose you don’t _have_ to tell him. He’s not implicated if HE doesn’t know it’s fake! He’s not exactly a cancer biologist, either. And it’s not like you haven’t lied to him before...”

“No! Just, no. It’s obscene! People like Zira and I couldn’t _get_ married, just a handful of years ago. People _did_ die waiting. So many people. And, you want to...? This plan is unhinged!”

Michael shrugged. “It’s out of the box, I’ll grant you. But it will work, if the right palms are greased. You’d be surprised what does. And, most importantly, Sandy will never see this coming. Just think about it. Really... _reflect_ on just how unwell you feel, today.”  
  


Crowley just gawped at her. The plate clattered into the sink.  
  


He walked leadenly into the master bedroom.

  
  


Zira looked sleepy, made a noise like a stretching cat, and reached out an arm to him.

Crowley stroked his hand gently. “So... Michael’s evil.”

“They are all evil,” Zira yawned sleepily. “All Gabe’s friends. All Sandy’s. All _of a feather_ , that lot.”

Crowley smiled. “Zira, listen. Sandy’s coming for you. We’ve got this wedding plan, and I’ll absolutely do it, if that’s what you want, but... Newt wants to take you shopping today. For clothes, he says, except that I think what he really wants is to get you away from me, so he can make sure you really want to do this. And... I think you should consider taking your passport with you, and asking Newt to drive you to the continent. Run and hide. Don’t tell me, Gabe, Michael, anyone. If you aren’t sure, just go. I’ll... I’ll understand.”

  
  


Zira pouted. “If you want to go to France, my dear, we’ll go to France.But I don’t want to go without you. I appreciate the thought, but I’m not cut out to be a fugitive. I want to be with you. And France is _exhausting_. I mean, the food is good, but...” He trailed off.

Crowley kissed his hand. “Just... think about it? Sandy is going to file and... this could get ugly.”  
  


“But you’ll fight for me?”

  
  


“Of course I will,” Crowley soothed. “I...”

  
Crowley’s phone rang.

  
  


Crowley had blocked Beez in his phone, but it seemed he’d forgotten the soup kitchen contact. He knew, if he picked up, that’s who would be on the other end.  
  


_Don’t answer it!_

  
  


”Angel, I’ve got to take this... I’ll be right back.”

  
  


Crowley strode quickly out of the cottage, so he could answer the phone with the volume Beez deserved.  
  


”How dare you!” he shouted, down the phone. “Hastur’s working for Sandy. Did you know? Are you working for him too?”

  
  


” _Fuck you, Crowley. Hastur needs treatment and legal support. I did **try** you and Zira first, and you told me where to get off. You have only yourselves to blame_.”

Crowley shook his head. “How can you do this to Zira? You’ll kill him, Beez. You know he’s a good person. You came to his house, and he was kind to you. He worked in your fucking soup kitchen, and you and Hastur are killing him...”

  
  


” _Fuck you, I’m killing him?! I admit Hastur went overboard with the break in, but who do you think called the fucking ambulance, Crowley? And you’ve made it **clear** we aren’t on the same side anymore, so I’m doing what I’ve got to do.”_

“Oh yeah?” Crowley snapped. “And what’s that, Beez? What do you want, calling me, right now? Gloating about Sandy filing against Zira?”

_“I_ **was** _calling to give you a heads up about that, yeah...”_

”Well don’t fucking bother, Beez. I don’t fucking need you, obviously, because I already knew. You know, I can’t believe I looked up to you, once. I thought you were a revolutionary, a hero, a person of principle. But you are nothing but a conniving, self-aggrandizing bitch, out for what they can get. Die in a fire, and then go straight to hell.”   
  


Beez laughed. “ _Sandy’s going to **win**. He’s going to take Zira away from you. You’ll never see him or speak to him again. You’ll lose your windfall and be out on the street. And Zira? Sandy will stash him in the country. Wonder who he’ll hire as a caretaker, huh? To make your precious Zira lose his mind for good? After a name change? After he gets off because the only witness is declared incompetent? This **situation** is going to hell, Crowley. These rich people are all assholes, and all deserve each other. And, I don’t give a fuck. If they take each other down, then there’s one less of them that I have to. Cut your losses, Crowley, gold-dig elsewhere, and never darken my doorstep again._”  
  


“Fuck you!” Crowley screamed, down the empty line.  
  


“Jesus, mate!” Newt said, at his shoulder. “You all right? Who _was_ that?”  
  


Crowley screamed, inarticulately, into Newt’s face.   
  


Newt took a step back, looking over his shoulder, to a calmly approaching Michael, for help.  
  


“He looks a little peaky,” Michael observed. “Mr Crowley, would you like me to take you to see a doctor? I know someone. I’m sure I can get him to fit you in...”

  
  


Newt blinked at the unexpectedly helpful Michael, and looked back at Crowley, reaching again, although more carefully for his shoulder. “What do you think, mate? Do you want to go talk to someone? Get checked out? Do you think that might help?”

  
  


Crowley closed his eyes. 


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Panic attack, involuntary/ unknowing sedation, discussion of cancer, ketamine, discussion of hallucinations, reference to sexual assault

“Zira... wake up!”

Newt was shaking his shoulder. Zira fought to focus.

“Crowley’s having a breakdown in the garden. We need you...”

“Breakdown?” A surge of adrenaline instantly cleared the sleep from Zira’s brain. “What’s happening, is he all right?”

Zira scrambled for the wheelchair, forgetting to check the brakes were engaged. Newt lunged for the handles, but luckily, the brakes did indeed happen to be on. 

“Please try and be careful,” Newt moaned. 

Zira ignored him, speeding towards the back door as quickly as possible, and cursing the cramped build of the cottage.

He spotted Crowley sitting in the yard, crouched up, Michael squatting beside him, attempting to force a tumbler of water into his hands.

Reaching them, Zira half climbed, half tumbled, to the ground, next to his fiancé. “Crowley, dearest? It’s all right. We don’t have to get married. It was far too much to ask, and I was so caught up in feeling sorry for myself, I didn’t realise how much you hated the idea.”

“No, no... no.” Crowley hissed through his clenched jaw. “It’s her. It’s them.”

Zira stroked his hair gently. “It was Gabriel’s idea, yes. But, I’ve been far too careless of your feelings about this. Took you for granted. We’ll call this off, and I’ll fight Sandy in court, through normal channels, and everything will be fine.”

“Maybe!” Michael cut in, in a sing-song voice. She handed the glass of water off to Newt, mouthing “ _You_ try.”

“No!” Crowley wheezed. “That’s not... Angel... I _want_ to marry you. Keep you safe. Always. But it’s... her. She’s trying to... make me sick. Dying...”

“Dearest, you aren’t making any sense,” Zira replied, confused. “I think maybe you should have a little lie down.”

Newt nodded, handing Crowley the water. “I think that’s a good idea. Have some water, too. Deep breaths. We’ll sort all this. It’s alright.”

Crowley gulped at the water, and made a face.

“I still think he should go to hospital!” Michael put in.

“No! No hospitals, Angel! Please! She’s... she wants me sick. Dying. But, I can’t do it to you... please, don’t listen. No hospital. _No_.”

Zira nodded. “Very well, my dear. No hospitals, unless you say! But, do please try to breathe, and relax for me, now. I have you. Just breathe for me.”  
  


They sat on the grass. Crowley’s head on Zira’s shoulder. Newt periodically dispensing the water. Michael watching with a intense interest that made Zira uncomfortable. Bentley whining and calling to them from the cottage back door.  
  


Crowley’s breathing slowly evened out, and he gradually relaxed into Zira’s embrace. Leaned into it.  


_Slumped_ into it.  
  


“Crowley, “ Zira whispered. And then louder, alarmed. “Crowley?!”

“Oh, relax!” Michael sighed, checking her watch. “That will just be the ketamine. Been about the right time.”

Newt dropped the glass of water to the grass. “Did you just say _ketamine_?! Have you lost your mind?!”

Michael shrugged.“It’s very safe. Limited cardiovascular and respiratory effects. And he clearly needed _something_ , if discussing a simple legal strategy left him screaming at people.”

“Screaming?” Zira asked, his stomach plunging.

Newt narrowed his eyes. “What legal strategy?”

“Cancer,” Michael said with a shrug. “And, don’t look at me like that. Just on paper! I’m not killing anybody! Just on paper, to speed up the wedding. Something called monocytic AML? Perfect, apparently. Fast acting, and with so many chromosomal abnormalities and gene mutation variants, that anyone but an expert would immediately throw up their hands, trying to understand it. There’s this gene called TP53, that...”

“Get away from us!” Zira found himself shouting. “ _You_ and _Gabe_ and _Sandy_ and all of you. Just all of you! Get away!”  
  


Michael sighed. “Zira, _do_ try to calm down...”  
  


“Calm down?! You drugged my fiancé! You tried to pressure him into faking cancer, for fuck’s sake! What if he got in trouble? Look at him! Prison almost _killed_ him! What if... just... just... get away from us! Leave! Leave now, and never come back! Same goes for Gabriel! You tell him. I’m... I’ll fight Sandy in court. Legally. I’m not incompetent, and I’ll prove it... I’ll just... prove it, to the judge. And Crowley doesn’t get _pulled around_ any more. He can marry me if, or when, he ever actually _wants_ to. I’ve had enough!”  
  


Michael blinked, with a bored expression. “Honestly, Zira! ‘ _They go low, we go high_ ’ is for children!Do you think Sandy will play fair? He’s coming at you, with both the Mental Health Act, and he’s applying to the court of protection to become your Personal Welfare Deputy, under the 2005 Act as well. Yes, you’ll be able to get a court hearing... And, all the lifts will be mysteriously broken, that day. And, the ramp access will be blocked. And, whoever is running the metal detector will cataclysmically overreact to your wheelchair, and give you a most _upsetting_ pat-down. And, assuming you make it in the door, without snapping? The barrister Sandy has hired is a very tall, lanky man. And, apparently, he’s just had the whim strike him to dye his hair white-blond! _Fancy that_! So... I’m sure you’ll present _very well_ in court. Given all that.”  
  


“Get. Off. My. Property.” Zira hissed, clutching Crowley’s limp body to his side.

Michael stared at him a moment longer, before shrugging, and bouncing off towards her car. “Expect a call from Gabriel!” she trilled, over her shoulder.  
  


Zira held Crowley, and stared at the grass, until he heard Michael’s car pull away. Then he looked up. “Newt, help me!” he moaned.

Newt crouched down. “Zira. I’m so sorry I gave him that water. For what it’s worth, I think what she said about the ketamine is right. That it is quite safe from a cardio-respiratory point of view. Even though he’s so frail. Think it raises blood pressure, if anything. I will call Ana to check, but let’s get him inside, first. If you can handle yourself, I’m sure I can manage him. Soaking wet he can’t weight much more than Bentley.”

“She _poisoned_ him. We should call the police,” Zira replied, feeling bone tired. “But... I remember something about ketamine being unlike other sedatives, that way, too. They gave it to me, after my accident, and I _think_ that was why, or something. I _hated_ it, though, Newt. It’s like hallucinating in a cave, or down a well or something. Reality is just... not there. It’s _awful_.”  
  


“Let’s get inside,” Newt soothed. “Bentley’s upset. I’ll call Ana and find out what to do...”

* * *

Ana’s advice was to keep him sitting upright, so he didn’t aspirate his own vomit. She suggested calling an ambulance at the first sign of vomiting, in case, he began to haemorrhage again, but not before, as the risk of an arrest was very high.  


So, they propped him, drooling, in a wingback chair. Zira cried, as he layered in cushions and blankets, while Newt, pale, googled, began charting Crowley’s pulse rate, and compulsively texted Ana, who was, by now, driving her receptionist’s car down the A23.

Zira murmured to Crowley, constantly and frantically. “Dearest, you are safe. Michael spiked your water. But, she’s gone and you’re here with me, safe.” Over and over.

“It will be okay, Zira,” Newt whispered.

”No, it’s awful, _awful_ ,” Zira whispered back. “And, I don’t think he can hear me...”

Gabe called on Crowley’s phone, on Zira’s, and on Newt’s.

Nobody answered.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Effects of/references to involuntary drug administration, infliction of minor injuries, Minor medical procedures, distressing hallucinations

Crowley came back to them, first in the form of tears. And, while any change was welcome, it was eerie. Like he was a crying statue. Some, strange, distressing miracle.  
  


Newt’s breath grew ragged. He texted Ana, still fifty or more minutes away, and wiped his eyes and nose furtively.

Zira clutched Crowley’s shoulders tightly, and hoped only that he was not making it worse. Hoped that if his touch was perceived at all, it was perceived as love.

After twenty more minutes of this new limbo, Crowley slowly came to life, around his tears. Although still seemingly unable to see, or to speak, he could move. He scrambled towards Zira. Even when there was no space between them, and, in the process, making long scratch marks down Zira’s back. Marks that no one at all would notice, until the next day.

“I think he’s guarding his airway better,” Newt said, with a voice like sandpaper.

“I don’t know what that means,” Zira replied, without even really stopping his rhythmic soothing, just sort of _squeezing_ the words in around around it.  
  


“It’s a good...”  
  


“He can’t see!”  
  


“It’s the drug, Zira...”  
  


“I’m right here, and he can’t see me! I can’t reach him, I can’t help!”

“You _can_ , you _are_... he’s coming out.”

Zira moaned in frustration, and Crowley seemed to echo the sound, despairingly.  
  


Slowly, slowly, the terror weakened, and the sobbing strengthened.

“Oh, Crowley. My Crowley. My love. I’m here. I’m _here_.”  
  


Then, Crowley howled for a while, then tried to rest his head in Zira’s lap. 

Zira ruthlessly forced Crowley upright again, hating himself to his core. “Upright, my dear, you _must_. If you throw up you could die, so please! _Please_.”

“Nggghhk,” Crowley moaned. “Naaaha”, and Zira’s mind slipped a cog, and he clutched and wailed as well.

Until... 

Then, Ana was there. Soothing tones, but cold business-like hands. She unzipped Crowley’s jacket, tore the cheap t-shirt to the rubbed collar.

Stethoscope. His chest. Then the inside of his elbow, while pumping a blood pressure cup. Then four stickers, with metal tabs, on his chest, alligator clips on the tabs, and what looked like an old printer. Needles danced. Ana muttered, and scribbled. P wave. T wave. QRS Complex. Like an arcane rune. An ancient language.  


She ordered Zira to lie down, and Crowley to sit up. She shone lights in their eyes.

Then, _things_ grew calmer. 

Ana forced a wet rag into Zira’s hand, and he sponged Crowley’s forehead, making Zira feel like a Regency maiden, given something to do. The blanket got progressively _drippier._

And, _Crowley_ grew calmer. “Zira. Zira, zzzzira,” he began to murmur, while crying softly.  
  


  
Zira nuzzled his hair.  


  
  


Bentley jumped on the bed, staying flat to retain her Labradorian invisibility, and inched her nose to Crowley’s hand, her little nares flaring for his scent.  
  


Zira glanced over, toward Ana, who was hugging a trembling Newt. “She drugged him. Just like that!” Newt was murmuring. “And, I helped. Just like that... I helped, I helped, I...”

“Oh, Newt! _¡Mi corazón!”_ Ana kissed his forehead, and then checked her watch.  
  


“Are we boring you?” Newt chuckled, running his hand through his hair.

  
  


“No! I’m checking the time on the west coast,” Ana replied. “Waiting to hear from...”  
  


Zira frowned. “The west coast of _where_?”  
  


“From California. Gabe and Sandy aren’t the only people with money. I’m having my mother’s lawyers hire us a cottage. Time to ‘bug out’, as the kids say. And they’ll have a much harder time tracing us, if it’s not on any of our credit cards. We are getting our own lawyers too, Zira! Enough is enough!”  
  


Zira nodded, miserably. “I will pay you back of course. Your mother. Every penny, the moment I can...”  
  


Ana sighed. “Zira, please stop worrying! You’ll send yourself grey”. Her phone rang.

“California?” Newt asked hopefully.

Ana shook the phone in annoyance. “No! _Gabriel_! He won’t stop calling! _¡Basta ya!_ I’ve blocked him.”  
  


“We have, too,” Newt replied.  
  


“Ah, email!” Ana exclaimed. “Here we go! Jasmine cottage, Tadfield, Oxfordshire.”  
  


“ _Oxfordshire_?! That’s closer to London than here...”  
  


Ana waved a hand dismissively. “We don’t want to be too far from London, in case there is court nonsense.Should we all go now? In the car I brought, because it’s not registered to any of us? We’ll all sleep better for it.”

Zira interrupted, alarmed. “But is it _safe_? To move Crowley?”

“Zira, darling. I know it was upsetting. I wouldn’t minimize that for the world. But Crowley’s _fine_. He’s not in danger.”  
  


“He _isn’t_ fine!” Zira whispered.

  
  


“He will be, _cielo_. We have him. Just hold him. Keep talking to him. Keep him grounded, and with you. He’s not well, so it’s hanging around, but he’ll clear it soon.” 

“And your friend won’t mind Bentley being in the car?”

“My friend has six Westies. She’ll be fine.”

But Zira shook his head. “Ana... Ana, I don’t _know_...”  
  


Ana sat down on the bed. “Zira, listen. I can imagine how this feels. _Another_ person telling you what to do. _Another_ set of lawyers. But listen. You’ve been in a waking nightmare, since Friday, and my only agenda here is to break that cycle...

”...Can you agree, that it would be a good idea, to go somewhere your brothers don’t know about? For at least a night or two? Can you agree, that it would be a good idea, to have an independent legal expert? Someone who is working solely for you, and your interests, in this situation?”

Slowly, Zira felt his shoulders sag. Felt his lungs fill. And Release. “Yes. I can agree. I do. Thank you, Ana, for coming. I know how much you hate to cancel on your patients. How much they need you...”

“I do. But, psychiatrists have family emergencies, like everyone else. You get to need me too, Zira.”  
  


“But...”  
  


“But, _nothing_. You look me in the eye, right now, Zira, and tell me you wouldn’t do the same for me? Tell me that I couldn’t call you, anytime of the day or night, from anywhere in the world, and you wouldn’t put your time, intellect, and money into helping me to safety. Go on. Do it! You can’t! So _enough_!”  
  


“Very well, my dear,” Zira sighed. “Happily conceded, for now.”  
  


Ana smiled. “ _Excellent_. I like to imagine you in a room with my mother, sometimes. You’d make her tear out her hair, and dig her nails into her scalp. And then, she’d make you soup, cursing like a sailor, til she dropped!”  


Newt giggled, suddenly. “Yeah... I can see that. I can!”  
  


Ana laughed, and stroked Newt’s cheek. “I know, right?! _iDios los crìa!_ ”  


Newt and Ana held each other, for a moment, and Zira lowered his eyes, embraced his Crowley a little tighter.  
  


* * *

Crowley found himself in a new place. Soiled. His mouth dry...  
  


“Oxfordshire, my dear. We did a moonlight flit. Well, an afternoon one...”  
  


...but, safe, in Zira’s arms.

“Oxfordshire?” Crowley tried the word out. Failed it.  
  


_There had been no Oxfordshire. No anything._

_Crowley had melted from his body. Had fallen and fallen.  
_

_Had burned._

_And, it had been forever. Had gone on, without time._

_He’d called and called for Zira. Screeched and wailed._  


_And, for a moment, Zira had been before him. Filamentous and beautiful. Like white tissue paper, floating in water. And, like thus, Zira had been shredded to pieces, by Crowley’s grasping, flailing hands.  
  
_

But, Zira was here. Drawn, sore, and sapped. But firm, and alive. He smelled slightly of exhaustion, tasted slightly of salt. His muscles twitched and cramped, as they held on to Crowley, but they didn’t let go.  
  


“Zira,” Crowley whispered. “Zira.”

  
  


Zira spoke to him in soft cello music, and Crowley found sleep.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: affect of/discussion of involuntarily consumed drugs, references to ASD/PTSD, mild amnesia, passing reference to pregnancy, reference to violence, brief reference to mental illness legislation

Oxfordshire knew that it was late in the year, in a way that London and Sussex did not.Winter was slung low in the sky, and brushed the tops of the trees. The air huddled, still.  
  


Crowley drew his eyes away from the cottages’s kitchen window. _Forced_ himself to focus.  
  


“Michael gave you ketamine...”

Crowley frowned. “ _Ketamine?!_ Never tried that one. Had heard it was peaceful. Can’t say I recommend it.”  
  


Newt sighed. “Technically, _I_ gave you ketamine...”  
  


Zira’s face fell into his hands. “Newt, no. You didn’t. You gave him _water_... you didn’t know she’d... _tainted_ it...”  
  


Ana’s fingernails drummed on the table.  
  


Crowley processed, then spat out a laugh. “My drink got spiked! Wasn’t even some dive club! My drink got spiked on a... a _seaside retreat_! Fucking bad trip, let me tell you!”  
  


No one else was laughing, although when Crowley caught Zira’s eye, Zira tried to smile.  
  


Crowley cleared his throat. “So, we’ve come up here to pass the time til the wedding? No, wait! More pressing question. _Why_ did Michael give me ketamine? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it was _that_ , rather something my brain just did on its own. Less likely to happen again. Lord knows, I have enough trouble trying to keep all my parts on the same page... Keep my bits together. Keep my bits about me... Still, _why_ did she, though? Seems a weird thing to do? Just being _Puckish_ , was she?”  
  


Newt shifted in his seat. “You _were_ very distressed...”  
  


“Was I? I don’t remember... Why?”  
  


Zira slid a hand across the table, toward Crowley. Crowley stared at it.  
  


“We aren’t quite sure, my dear. You, and Michael had been discussing the ah... _plan_... for accelerating the wedding. Newt saw you on the phone with someone. And you... well... I believe Newt said... _screaming_. You started screaming into the wind. And... well, I suppose Michael _might_ have thought she was helping, although frankly, I don’t much care _what_ her intentions were, and...”  
  


Zira trailed off, clearly watching Crowley’s face closely, which might be a problem, given Crowley had no idea what it was doing.  
  


Zira licked his lips, furtively, unhappily, and began again. “And, my dear, it’s not so much that we came here to ‘wait for the wedding’. I... ahh... I mean, we’ll have to go back to Sussex _eventually -_ Newt’s car is still there, and, in the excitement, I made off with a wheelchair and a pair of crutches... but... not for the wedding. The wedding is... well, it feels dire to say ‘cancelled’, but...”  
  


“Are you breaking up with me?” Crowley interrupted, completely stunned. 

“No! What? No! I.... _no_!” Zira replied, immediately. “This is what I... I just... it wasn’t a _real wedding_ , was it? It was a _plot!_ Expedited for reasons that had nothing to do with the two of us, and I’ve decided to... _un-expedite_ it.”

Crowley stood up, with a start, and started to pace, as much as the small kitchen, and his long legs, permitted.  
  


This _did not add up_ to a satisfactory amount of pacing. “But... but... you can’t just decide to ‘un-expedite’ _our_ wedding all by yourself...”

“Well, I mean, I _can_...That’s rather how weddings work...” Zira replied. “But, my darling, it’s not for the right reasons, not at the right time.”  
  


“People get married for non-ideal reasons all the time!,” Crowley retorted. “Visas! Or...illness! Or....or to fumigate surprise babies with debastardisation spray!”  
  


“Crowley...”  
  


“... _reality television_! Is ‘letting me become your next-of-kin’ _really_ a worse reason, to get married, than reality television?!”  
  


“Technically,” Newt interrupted. “It’s about being the Nearest Relative, under the Mental Health Act... not next-of-kin. ‘S different.”  
  


Crowley rolled his eyes, and looked over at Newt and Ana. “Should you two really be here for this?”  
  


Ana offered a small small. “Crowley, I think if you take a few deep brea...”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Crowley interrupted. “My fiancé is calling off my wedding! I’m allowed to be upset!”

Zira shook his head. “All right... no! I’ve changed my mind. We’ll... we’ll keep the date, and if, by the time we get to the 23rd, you still want to get married... we’ll pop down to the Downs and do it. I... I am mortified I’ve upset you, my dear. I didn’t want... I thought you’d be pleased. _Relieved_.”  
  


“Relieved?!” Crowley stared.  
  


Zira traced wood grain on the table with the tip of his finger, and didn’t look up. Didn’t answer.

Crowley sat back down with a thud. A bit too much of a thud. It stung.

He must have flinched, because Zira was looking at him now, through his lashes. One eyebrow half quirked. The faintest of smiles. “Flopped down too hard, did we?”

Crowley shrugged. “Force of habit. I used to have more arse than this.”  
  


Zira quickly hid his lips inside his mouth, but could not quite suppress a tiny snort.  
  


Love thwacked Crowley, with a wiffle bat, all over again. “Bloody hell, Angel. Why are we so bad at this, when we love each other so much? How do we get on the same page? It’s like we’re trying to dance, but I’m... grooving, while you’re trying to... _oh, wotzit_... the cravat? No! The garrote?”  
  


“Well, I’m fairly sure it’s _neither_ of _those_!”  
  


Usually people’s voices went higher, when they joked, but Zira’s sometimes, went _lower_. Deep and throaty. How Crowley adored it! Adored him.

  
  


“I will want to,” Crowley said. “The 23rd. I want to, every day. I don’t give a shit about traditions, and ceremony, or parties. But, standing up and saying I love you? That I adore you best, of all things? That I hold you highest and closest? That, if you are hurt, the world _must_ call me first, because it is my life on the line, as well? That I want to wake every day to your face, your voice, your overbrewed tea? I’ll want to stand and say that on the 23rd. And now! And forever! Every day. Because Angel, that ketamine? I just saw this entire world _melt_ before me. And, all I wanted of it was _you_. To hold you til the end.”  
  


“Over-brewed tea!” Zira sniffed. “How _dare_ you! And, of course, _I’ll_ want to. It goes without saying. I never even let myself dream that I’d find someone like you. A towering, curling, flame of passion. All talent, and creativity and ferocity. All Byron, all Ulysses. Ancient men met someone like you and imagined the ancient heroes. So, as if I wouldn’t want to marry you! As if I wouldn’t want to spend my live curled around your fire, making you proper tea, instead of that barely-dyed water you make!”  
  


“Well...alright then!”  
  


“All right, indeed!”  
  


Crowley sighed. “Right...What were we talking about originally? Oh, that’s right. Michael drugged me, because I freaked out, because she’s evil, and because... someone called me...”  
  


He fished out his phone, and opened his call log.  
  


_Beez Kneez  
  
_

The call itself was a complete blank in his mind. 

“Not important,” he muttered. “Nothing they had to say would be. Don’t know _what_ they said to tick me off so much! Probably just more victim-blaming tosh.”  
  


Zira reached, again, for his hand. “I could imagine, my dear, how the loss of a long-time friend might _particularly_ sting, with ones wedding approaching...”  
  


  
  


“Nah.” Crowley made a face. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”  
  


Zira seemed to hesitate, but then pressed forward a little more. “I would... understand, if you wanted them there. At the wedding.”

Beside Crowley, Newt bristled like a spring-loaded porcupine, and presumably bit his tongue clean off, in order to remain silent.  
  


“No way _in Hell_ , Angel,” Crowley replied. “But, I love you for offering.”

  
  


Ana shifted. “Not to interrupt, but we all have a Skype call, with these new lawyers, in twenty minutes. Maybe we take the time to regroup, and freshen up?”  
  


Zira laughed. “Quite right, Ana dear. I must change into my formal rugby jersey! Oh, but how I miss my wardrobe! I never, for a minute, thought I was a clothes horse, but... Well, I wouldn’t commit _murder_ for a herringbone sport coat, but, I _could_ be tempted to some mild larceny. Now, what’s this firm, again?”  
  


Ana checked her phone. “They are Ryder, Chevalier, and Dullahan.”  
  


Crowley burst out laughing. “You’re kidding!”  
  


Ana frowned. “What? Do you know them?”  
  


“No!” Crowley laughed. “It’s just that all the names mean...”  
  


“They all mean a mounted warrior, or rider, yes,” Zira agreed. “That tickled you, did it, dear?”

“Not so much tickled me Angel,” Crowley laughed. “It’s just that they, so clearly, need a _fourth_! If I worked there, I’d do nothing else, but comb law schools, the world over, looking for a talented Ms Reiter, or Mr Horsman...”

Zira’s face exploded into sunshine.   
  


“What is it, Angel?” Crowley asked, basking.

“Oh, I can’t explain really... but, for a moment, I saw you selling me houseplants, and painting my front door with white and gold feathers. You just... for a moment I saw... I can’t explain it... I you seemed...I just... I love you.”

And without thinking, and at last, Crowley took Zira’s hand.


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: ableism, reference to unequal relationship dynamics, mild sexual content, discussion of boundaries, PTSD trigger event/symptoms, reference to past injury, passing reference to alternative medicine, internalized gender stereotype.

“I don’t like lawyers. I’m _sick_ of lawyers!”  
  


Zira’s voice filtered out from under the white fluffy white eiderdown, from somewhere in the vicinity of Crowley’s armpit.  
  


Crowley sighed and gave the appropriate eiderdown lump a gentle kiss, before going spelunking to find his fiancé.  
  


“Oh Angel! I thought it went okay?” Crowley soothed one cocooned next to him. “She seemed competent, at least, this _Ms Chevalier_. Efficient, too. Filing those restraining orders. Already organizing those assessments...”  
  


Zira curled up a little tighter. “But I don’t _want_ to be _assessed_. By a social worker _or_ by a doctor. It’s unnecessary.”  
  


“True. And, I won’t let anyone _make_ you do it. But you did hear the lawyer, Zira. How it would look better if we agreed to these independent assessments? It would look like good faith...”  
  


“I don’t see why _my_ good faith is in question,” Zira muttered. “I haven’t _done_ anything to anyone.”  
  


“Oh sweetheart, I know. It’s not you they are questioning, is it? It’s me. Nobody thinks you are taking advantage of me!”  
  


Zira snorted, softly. “Shows what they know, doesn’t it?”  
  


“Anyway, Angel. Don’t worry about it today. Today we are just staying in bed. Honeymooning.”  
  


“Honeymoon? But we aren’t married yet!”  
  


“‘S very us, though, isn’t it? Honeymooning before the wedding, in an Oxfordshire winter, in a tiny cottage, and bringing your two weird friends along for company. Point is, you deserve this. To be pampered and snuggled until you feel better.”  
  


“...And he started talking to you, _immediately_ , when they started talking about the money, and wills, and the forensic accountant. He just _assumed_ it would be all over my _poor damaged head_...”  
  


“That’s shows what they know too, doesn’t it?” Crowley purred. “You are definitely the genius in this family.”  
  


“It’s not funny, Crowley. I may have begrudgingly got used to society assuming I’m a child, because I’m disabled. But, you’d think those I’m paying by the hour could at least pretend to see me as an equal.”  
  


“ _Lawyers_ , though..?”

“Hmpf. You know what I mean.”

“Poor Zira. Poor clever Zira. So pretty, so cuddly... so golden, and pink, and pretty.”  
  


“You said ‘pretty’ twice.”  
  


“Just twice isn’t nearly enough! Come on, Angel. Dig yourself out and sit up. I want to sit face-to-face. We are going to practice some things.”  
  


Zira huffed _upwards_. “You aren’t actually planning to coach me for these ridiculous assessments, are you? Because Crowley, there _are_ limits...”  
  


“No! I’m not wasting our honeymoon on that nonsense. It will be fine Angel. Quick trip into London. Two appointments, and back here. We’ll pick up a better wheelchair, and some baby blue shirt sleeves, while we are there. But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Today, we are working on something else.”  
  


“Why?”  
  


“Because I read on a embroidered pillow that ‘self care is important’. Come on, now. Scooch over.”  
  


Zira scrambled a little closer to Crowley, who folded his long legs over Zira’s thighs.  
  


“This okay, Angel?”  
  


Zira nodded. “Your beard is coming in... it’s as red as the rest of your hair...”  
  


“That can’t be a surprise at this point, can it?” Crowley laughed. “You’ve seen pretty much all my furnishing and upholstery by now, haven’t you?”  
  


Zira stroked his cheek. “It’s like copper wire, but almost impossibly fine. Like it might be meant for springs and coils in the finest clocks... Sorry. Rambling. So, what are we doing, my dear?”

Crowley smiled. “Well... _this,_ basically. Intimacy. Talking to each other. Specifically today, I was hoping you might practice saying no to me. And saying yes to me, I suppose. For example... I might ask if I may kiss each of your fingertips. And you might say... ‘actually, not my thing!’ And, I’ll show you that I’ll hear you, still love you. Respect your boundaries. Cherish your boundaries. So next time you’ll feel a bit less stressed about establishing a boundary. Does that sound alright?”  
  


“... a little _odd,_ maybe... but, yes. All right.”  
  


“Okay! Ready? So... let’s say...The lines where your hand meet the inside of your wrist... can I kiss you there?”  
  


“Yes.”  
  


Crowley smiled. “You got the part about practicing some ‘no’s’ right?”  
  


“I did, yes. But surely, if we are doing this, I should also practice listening to myself, and saying yes and no as I really want to?”  
  


“That’s fair,” Crowley nodded. “Wise, actually. Genius. Clever, brave Zira!”  
  


Zira sighed. “Crowley, really...”  
  


“Zira. Would it be alright if I kissed the inside of your wrists, _and_ shower you with compliments the way I long to?”

Zira sighed again, dramatically but nodded. Held one hand to Crowley, who cradled it, rotated it, kissed.

“Was that okay? Would the other one be okay?”  
  


Zira held up the other hand. “Do _I_ get a turn?”  
  


Crowley’s stomach fluttered, but he decided to hold firm. “Would be it okay if I have all the turns today?”  
  


“Oh... very well. Yes. Really, yes. I suppose you have a point...”  
  


Crowley smiled. “Thank you. Now. Would it be alright, if I run one finger from the bridge of your nose, along the your cheekbone, stopping at the hair. Before your ear.”

“Yes, my dear, quite fine. I’m not made of glass you know, you don’t have to...”

“I want to ease you into this, Zira,” Crowley replied, thoughtfully. “I think it’s important. So...it’s alright?”

Zira nodded. “It is.”

Crowley took his time paid close attention, gave the planes of his lover’s face an artist’s attention. “Beautiful.”

He saw a retort spring to the front of Zira’s mouth, saw his lips catch it, saw him reluctantly swallow it and just sit with the discomfort of being praised. Crowley wanted to smother him in kisses.

“Okay, darling. It might be time for that no. Are you ready? May I run my finger, like I just did, but along your collarbone? I will not touch the bite scar, but my finger _would_ come near it...”

“Ahh,” Zira sighed. “Um... _yes_. All right.”

“Zira...!”

“It’s a yes, Crowley,” Zira protested. “Not the easiest ‘yes’... but... I want to try it. Just a little.”  
  


Crowley hesitated. “Say stop, if you need to. I mean, if you _want_ to... _want_ to!”

Zira nodded and Crowley slowly caressed a horizontal line across Zira’s chest. “I love how powerful, you are, Angel. That hidden core strength.”

Zira exhaled a held breath. “I’m alright. I am.”

“You are _more_ than alright, Angel. Utterly _stunning_ , you are. But I do take your meaning.”

  
  


“Keep going...”  
  


Crowley considered. “Can I kiss your wrists again? Like before? I like that one... I don’t know if you know this... But in London once... at your place...You were studying into the night, you had a grey-blue shirt on, and leather braces, and your sleeves were oh-so-neatly rolled up to your elbows. And, you had a thought, and you took off your glasses, and held them in one hand, staring off into space. And. I swear I’d never seen anything so beautiful. You’ve topped it since then. But that’s... that’s a flash bulb memory for me... and, you are so sexy with your sleeves rolled up...”

“I didn’t know that,” Zira smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t think I recall the precise occasion.”

“Oh, but I do. I will forever.”

“You may, by the way. Kiss my wrists. Both at once if you like. For variety...”  
  


Crowley did, slowly, with a small smile.  
  


Zira nodded. “Right, next?”  
  


Crolwy consisered. “Um... okay. Your legs, could I...”  
  


“ _No_!” The word seemed to explode from Zira almost unbidden.

Crowley immediately held up his hands. “Absolutely! Absolutely no. Angel... _thank you_. Thank you for saying no...”  
  


Zira shook his head furiously. “No, no! I mean just...Something else. A different one! Or ... I didn’t even hear you out, did I? I should have...”  
  


  
  


Crowley’s stomach plunged. “Zira, sweetheart! Breathe for me, please! Look, you’re shaking!”

Zira stared at his hand for a moment. “It’s just the brain thing.”

“Darling, it’s _not._ Your other hand is shaking too...”

“It’s not! I’m... fine. I just... here, _look_!” Zira grabbed Crowley’s hand and pulled it to his face. 

Thinking of how Zira had stroked his stubble earlier, Crowley tried to shape his hand to cup Zira’s chin. But, distressed, and caught off-guard, he fumbled, just a little, and his thumb brushed against Zira’s lips.

Zira’s eyes shot open, wider than Crowley had ever seen, and he let out a sharp cry, followed immediately by a flinch backward, and a harsh crack of skull against bedboard. “It’s fine, I’m fine, it’s...”  
  


Crowley felt himself start to cry. “Oh Zira. _Angel_! Please, tell me you see it now?! You need help with this. You can’t just... and you said you thought I’d be grateful and... _oh, god_... how did I not see how _bad_ things have gotten...?”  
  


“But I’m fine! I am! I’m...” Zira cut himself off. “I... all right, yes. Maybe I... maybe, I do need.... oh, lord! We’ll just add it to the list, shall we?”  
  
  
  


Crowley furtively wiped at his own tear tracks with the heel of his hands. “It was always on the list, Angel. But, it’s going straight to the top. Darling... I’m so, so sorry.”  
  


“You didn’t _do_ anything...”  
  


“Agree to disagree and I’m sorry, regardless. I’d rather die than hurt you, Zira. Please, please _really hear me_. I... what do you need, right now? All my instincts are telling me to back all the way up to wall, but I don’t want you to think that I’m rejecting you or...”

Zira’s face twisted. “I...um... could you... not back away? please don’t! Please just... just sit with me... just... I don’t know what’s wrong with me... you didn’t do anything, but... oh...”  
  


“Okay... I won’t move. I’m here, Zira. I’m exactly here. And... we’ll get help. Therapy... or medication... or, meditation? Or, I don’t know, a fucking crystal?Something to help you feel safe. We’ll find _something_. There will be something.”  
  


Zira fought his lungs. “And, if there isn’t?”

“Then... I’ll... retrain as a neurochemist, and find something that way! Whatever it takes.”

Slowly, Zira caught the thread of himself. “I must stop crying,” he muttered. “Crying in the bedroom is _rude_.”

“You are a clever, wonderful man, Zira. But, that is some _stone cold nonsense,_ right there.I’ll never stop _trying_ to read your mind, Angel, but, I am not good enough at it. I need you to cry in the bedroom if you need to, and the sitting room, and the kit... and the bloody kitchen. Wherever you are. Please. Every no. Every tear. _Please,_ Angel.”  
  


Zira sucked in deep breaths. “Could... could you hug me now? I need... I feel... please?”

Crowley stuck out his arms at one, but remained rooted in place. 

Zira came to him.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Ableism, gaslighting, discussion of medical procedures, and injuries, mild sexual content, discussion of domestic abuse, discussion of domestic neglect

The office was cramped and utilitarian, but it was accessible, in a mundane sort of way, and Zira supposed he had to be grateful for small mercies.

The air was heated, but stale, the magazines travel-themed, but nothing too ambitious, the plant in the corner was made of plastic. The waiting chairs were particularly uncomfortable, the sort of chairs that adults usually thought only school children deserved to sit in, and Zira found himself finally grateful for the mulish hired wheelchair. 

It was Ana who squirmed in the narrow plastic seat, Ana who had been directed to come with him. Another _good faith gesture_ , in acknowledgement of Sandy’s ridiculous allegations against Crowley and Newt. She gave Zira a supportive smile, when he caught her eyes, and he smiled back. After all, none of this was her fault.

“I want to go home,” Zira muttered. Not even caring whether he meant the little cottage in Oxfordshire, or his actual house, because the critical part was not being _here_. “I don’t like this, I don’t want this, and why was this shade of beige ever created in paint form in the first place? And, who looks at a whole rainbow of paint cards and picks _this_? Who says ‘Oh huzzah! I’ve found it!’ It’s too drab to look crisp, too bland to feel inviting, and too dark to look open. This may be the worst of all beiges...”

Ana smiled. “I’ve been thinking of redoing my office. It will probably have to be a neutral... it’s a tricky thing... I need my patients comfortable. I thought perhaps a mushroom colour? Maybe some new paintings as well...”

“You should ask Crowley to help you! He has the most delightful eye...”

Ana laughed. “It’s a psychiatrist office, Zira! I can’t have giant snake murals everywhere! Picking the art is a bit of an art-form in itself, actually. It’s not so bad avoiding the triggers and phobias of my current clients, mind... But, what if the next patient cannot bear bees, or photos or children, or little holes?  I learned my lesson when I first went out into practice. I gave the job to my assistant at the time. She figured she couldn’t go wrong with flowers... but, she bought a set of O’Keeffe prints, didn’t she? Hung giant colourful vulvas everywhere. Here, look! Like this one! Could _NOT_ see it, apparently!”

“Talking to the wrong man, here, my dear...” Zira quipped back, half-heartedly. “Did we arrive early, or...”

“Hello, Zira? So sorry to keep you waiting...”

Zira turned. Half expecting a towering Hastur doppelgänger, straight from central casting, he was relieved to see the social worker was a pleasant-faced, middle-aged man, with none of Hasturs features, and only about his own standing height or slightly taller.

“... nice to meet you,” the social worker continued. “I’m Ligur. Which is a mouthful I know. So you can call me Lee if you like!”

“Ligur is fine,” Zira replied, trying not to sound defensive. “It’s only two syllables, after all. Is it a family name?”

The name was tickling something in the back of Zira’s mind but he couldn’t quite place it. _Ligur_...

“It is actually, yeah!” Ligur replied. 

Something about his bright tone was reminiscent of a man praising a small dog for walking on its hind legs, and Zira felt his fragile optimism deflate somewhat.

“Now, Zira, I think it is important that we speak in private, and I’m sure your friend understands...”

Ana nodded politely.

Zira allowed himself to be escorted into a cramped little office. There were photos on the desk of Ligur and some pet rats. “I breed them for shows,” he announced proudly. “That there is Louisa Jane, she’s my best mum. She just had pups, actually!”

“I have a dog,” Zira replied, awkwardly, and then startled when Ligur clicked a lock on his office door closed.

“Some folks around here aren’t very good at knocking!” Ligur explained, still with a cheerful expression. “I thought you might be more comfortable, given what we have to talk about. 

Zira was decidedly NOT more comfortable. He clenched his teeth, and smiled, however. _Conciliatory_! he reminded himself. _Good Faith!_ “What do we have to talk about, exactly?”

Ligur smiled. “Oh that’s a good question! I work for something called a Local Safeguarding of Adults Board. Or LSAB. Have you come across that term before?”

“I don’t think so. No.” Zira answered. “Should I have?” 

“Well, that’s something of the question, as well! You see, Zira, your brother Sandy, has some concerns about your wellbeing. Your living situation, and well... I understand that you are planning to get married soon?”

“I am...”

“Congratulations! So you see, Zira, basically my job is to make sure that you are safe, that all adults actually!, are in safe living arrangements, and we will be talking a little about that... but the most pressing concern today is to make sure that you understand marriage. So, I’d like to talk a bit about the financial consequences of marriage, and also about some of the things that married people do together.”

“We are to talk of money and sex, basically,” Zira interrupted, flatly. “Nothing awkward, then! _Delightful_.”

Ligur smiled.

Ligur. _Ligur_...

Zira preceded to awkwardly explain his history with Crowley. He wasn’t _trying_ to sound awkward, of course, but he found himself pausing almost constantly, trying to find the most flattering, and yet still honest, description of events. He found himself backtracking, explaining, _over-explaining_. 

Maybe he and Crowley _should_ have practiced for this interview.

The more he fumbled, the more nervous he got, and the wider Ligur’s smile grew. And it didn’t help that half his brain seemed to have snagged on the man’s name, of all things.

“I’d like to ask a few medical questions, now,” Ligur said still scribbling copious notes. “I’m not a doctor, and we will probably end up going over a lot of it again with the doctor, in a few minutes....”

“Sorry,... _we_?” Zira interrupted. “Are you coming with us to the doctor’s office? That seems...” _incredibly invasive_ “... rather a waste of your no doubt valuable time?”

“Why, the doctor is coming here! To see you!” Ligur replied.

“Here? You’ve got a neurologist coming _here_ to examine me?”

Ligur tilted his head. “Oh, she’s not a neurologist. Just a normal doctor. Nothing scary like a neurologist. She works with us a lot, on cases like yours.”

“What does that mean? Cases ‘like mine’?”

“I think you’ll really like her! Her name is Uriel. She’s named after an angel, just like you! Isn’t that fun?”

“ _Delightful_ ,” Zira replied, miserably. “So, you said you had medical questions?”

“Right yes! Now... the first question might not _seem_ like a medical question, but... well... I think when I when I came up to you in the waiting room, your friend was trying to show you... well... let’s say, a bit of a naughty picture? Now, I wanted to ask you if that sort of thing happens a lot at home. If your friends and your boyfriend often make you look at naughty pictures and videos...”

Zira couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He was starting to feel itchy. He hated the shirt he was wearing, under the hateful sports jersey. He liked his _own_ shirts. The nicer cotton, the french seams. And, while he had _expected_ a awkward and condescending experience, this Ligur...

_Ligur..._

...fellow was worse than he’d imagined.

Zira took a breath, and counted to ten to regain his calm, and to maximize his chances of getting the words out without stammering. “You have misconstrued the situation. I do not view pornography, or engage in any other sexual activity, with Newt or Ana. Just now in your waiting room, Ana was trying to show me a painting of a _flower_. Sometimes a flower is just a... anyway. My boyfriend... my _fiancé..._ Crowley and I... well... I mean... must I talk about this?”

“It would be very helpful.”

“... well, I wouldn’t say _pornography_. But, he likes cinema. Capital ‘C’ cinema. And, I suppose some of it is... Anyway, why is it any of your business?” 

Liger smiled, and smiled, and fucking smiled. “It is my job... no, more than that, _my duty_ to act in your best interest. What type of films to you like to watch? Would you typically choose the same things as your fiancé?”

Zira shrugged. “I mean... I prefer things that are less... angsty... I suppose you would say? More escapist?”

“More family friendly?” Ligur suggested. “So... would it be fair to say, that you prefer watching family entertainment, but that your fiancé sometimes pressures you into watching explicit and erotic films?”  
  


Zira’s stomach twisted. He was making a mess of this. It was all coming out wrong. “You, sir, are prying. And twisting my words.”  
  


Ligur’s forehead creased. “Zira, I assure you, I have no desire to be more invasive than is necessary.”

“You’ve already _been_ more invasive than is necessary!”

“You seem upset, Zira. Let’s talk about something else.   
  


“ _Please_!”  
  


“We can come back to intimacy, later.”

“Oh, _goody_.”

“Let’s talk about...” Ligur shuffled his notes. “Now. I notice you have some disabilities...”

“Well spotted!”

“Well, Zira, there are certain things we look for in vulnerable people such as yourself, and I’ve been running down a checklist and have a few quick questions... Now. Grooming. I understand that your family is quite wealthy and you have considerable assets. And yet, you’ve come in this morning in what appear to be very cheaply made clothes. Now... I pass no judgement on your appearance, but I do want to make sure you have a say in how your money is spent. Did you pick out the clothes you are wearing yourself? Do _you_ like them?”

“Not particularly, no. But there were unique circumstances. I had to leave London very quickly. Surely Sandy told you, given how much he’s told you about everything else...”

Ligur nodded. “Yes. According to my notes, your other brother, with whom you have been on very poor terms for years, and your fiancé, conspired to take you from London without allowing you to collect your own clothes, possessions, medications, and mobility aids? Is this correct?”

Zira gritted his teeth. “There was a _safety_ concern. They came to the hospital...”

“...Yes, about that” Ligur interrupted. “ Another thing on the checklist is skin integrity. Do you currently have any pressure sores?”

“No,” Zira replied without thinking, before he suddenly realised he’d just lied.

Ligur replied before he could correct himself. “According to your brother, you currently have a decubitus ulcer on your residual limb. Is that not correct?”

“I... misspoke. I meant that I don’t have any bed-sores, which is what I assumed your checklist was aimed at. It’s... it’s not the same thing. It’s a very _typical_ complication, really...”

“I understand that you fiancé indicated to the emergency consultant that he would seek a wound care plan for your leg from a GP as a matter of urgency. Did he take you to see a doctor, Zira? In Sussex?”  


“It’s been so hectic...”

“If he had taken you, you might have been able to seek new prescriptions for the medication you were compelled to leave in London. Have you been in discomfort these last few days, Zira? Without your pain medication?”  


Zira lowered his eyes. “I’ve... had mostly good pain days. Been lucky. If I’d asked I’m sure Crowley would have...”

  
  


Ligur smiled. “I’m not a doctor. We’ll go over all this with Dr Uriel when she arrives. I did want to clarify that nobody helped you to seek treatment for this ulcer, though? It was found incidentally when you presented at the emergency room for a different reason?”

“I was keeping an eye on it,” Zira insisted. “There were extenuating circumstances.”

“I’m sure there were,” Ligur replied, blandly. “Alright. Let’s talk about marriage. Now.. can you tell me what marriage means to you. Why you want to get married, and what it’s all about?”  
  


Annoyed, Zira went on a bit of a rant on the history of marriage, from the Bronze Age up until the present day. After a minute or so, he felt a bit better, more sure of himself, like he was presenting himself better.

Ligur let him talk. “What a great answer!” Ligur said at the end. “I didn’t know half of that! I tell you I learn all sorts of things in this job, get to met all sorts of different people.”

Zira sighed. The conciliatory gesture made him feel a little guilty. The man had a job to do, after all. “I do hope you find your work rewarding. It’s undoubtedly very important.”  
  


Ligur smiled. “Thank you. Now... I _am_ sorry... but, I did say we would have to come back to sex. One of the things I’ve been asked to do is assess your capacity for marriage. The courts have previously ruled that an understanding of sexual relationships is a part of that as well as all the financial and civic aspects you’ve so aptly given the history of just now. Please, _do remember_ that it is just a formality.”

Zira sighed. “Very well. Let’s proceed.”

  
  
“Wonderful. Do you and your fiancé have sex?”   
  


“Yes.”

“When was the most recent occasion?”

Zira thought about the kitchen in Sussex. After Hastur. “I don’t remember.”

“Now, Zira...I would like you to come explain to me as best you can your understanding of where babies come from.”

Zira glared. “You _cannot_ be serious.”

“As I said, this is a formality. It’s important that you demonstrate to me that you understand that getting married to your fiancé will not mean you will be able to have biological children with him. Now there may be other ways to start a...”

“Yes, alright! Fine! I hereby proclaim to understand that, as two cisgender men, Crowley and I lack the requisite ova and uteri and various fallopiantubes necessary for biological reproduction? Now, can this farce finally end?”  
  


“Excellent!” Ligur replied. “Thank you so much for cooperating. Many clients of mine have found this a frustrating process. It’s quite alright. I’m not offended. No doubt Dr Uriel will be here any moment...”

“Yes, about that,” Zira replied. “Now... I came here under the impression that I was getting a neurological exam from a neur...”

There was a sharp knock on Ligur’s door.

“... speak of the devil. I suppose that’s her, is it?”

“Oh, but she’s lovely!” Ligur insisted. “She’s really, really nice. And did I tell you she is named after an Angel? Just like you?”

  
  


“You did, yes,” Zira replied. “And you needn’t have. Unsurprisingly, coming from a family that names children after angels, I was, in fact, _aware_ of the _Archangel Uriel_ even before you mentioned it! Not to mention that I am studying ancient history? At university?”

“And, I’m sure you are a wonderful student,” Ligur replied, sweetly. “I bet all your teachers are really proud of you!”  
  


Zira dug his finger nails into the arm rest of the wheelchair.  
  


Ligur unlocked the door.

Zira felt a momentary sense of relief that this Dr Uriel had not been hand-picked for a resemblance to Hastur, either. She seemed nice enough, on first impression. Although, she smiled a lot, too.

  
  


He wondered if it was possible that Gabriel and Crowley had misjudged Sandy. As certain as they were that Sandy had employed Hastur, to Zira it seemed... Sandy was his _brother_ , for heavens sake! Whatever bad blood there was between the three of them, Zira would never intentionally hurt his brothers, and surely they felt the same way.  
  


Perhaps Sandy, although infuriating ignorant and patronizing, was truly just worried about him. Sandy has always been a bit of a binary thinker, had always had put far more stock in prayer than in science, and well... brain damage was not something most people understood all that well, right up until the moment it happened to them or someone they loved.  
  


In other words, perhaps, these two professionals would be able to set Sandy’s mind at rest, and, more importantly, get him to _back the fuck off_.

Again resolving to cooperate, Zira turned to Uriel. “Hello, my dear...”

She smiled. “Hello, Zira! I’m Dr Uriel! It’s so nice to meet you!”

“...err. Yes. Thank you. The pleasure is mutual, I’m sure. Now, before we get started, I seem to have come in here with the wrong impression. I expected a neurological exam, to assess the extent of my brain injury, but, I’m now given to understand...”

“Okay, Zira! Look. There’s no need to worry. I do want to ask you some quick questions, just as we go, but mostly all I want to do is give you a full medical exam to look for any injuries, or signs that things are a bit wrong at home. Maybe take a few photos. No needles or shots today, I promise! Does that sound alright?”

  
  


It _didn’t,_ really, but Zira was about to reluctantly concede, when he remembered that he had large scratches right down his back. That Crowley put them there. While tripping on ketamine. Something that the he would never be able to explain adequately to the two smiling, condescending brick walls he was currently faced with. And if the police got involved. If it was Crowley’s word against Michael’s...

“Actually,” he said, in a small voice. “I’d rather not...”  
  


Uriel frowned, adopting a perplexed expression. “Oh, but why is that Zira? There’s no need to be scared. It’s important for all of us to visit our doctors so they can help us be healthy. Are you worried that you’ll get into trouble? That your boyfriend will be cross with you? What is it like when he is cross?”  
  


Zira was about to lose his patience again, but then, Uriel leaned forward slightly, and the pendant she was wearing slipped out of the v of her buttoned shirt.

It was a symbol incorporating a crown, a fish, and a dove. A trinity. It was ugly as fuck. And, Zira was very familiar with it, because it was used, almost exclusively, by Sandy’s congregation. 

“Your necklace,” Zira stammered.

Uriel smiled. “Isn’t it pretty? I always carry it with me. Keep it close to my heart. _He who sees the infinite in all things sees God_.”

“That’s William Blake,” Zira replied, censoring himself from going into detail about what Blake might think of her churches beliefs...

... and then, finally, his brain caught up.

Sandy had picked _supposedly_ independent experts, but this woman all but certainly knew Sandy.

And...

_Tiger tiger burning bright_...

... and, last year, Crowley had been in prison. Zira had worked his shifts at Beez’s soup kitchen.

Had helped with suppliers. Had sat on the phone,in the messy office, reading Beez’s spidery handwriting all over her message board. He had read it, because it was printed word and it was right in front of his face and that was how is brain worked. Read the names on the roster.

  
  


Newt had driven him there and, that morning, Newt had been upset. Upset about Tigers. Upset about some documentary about a man in America who owned tiger and other big cats, including hybrids too. Hybrids of tigers and lions. Which were called, Newt had explained, either Tigons or...

Zira had been sitting in the office and reading the roster and he’d noticed one name in particular because that morning he had been talking about big cats and Beez’s handwriting was bad and it looked like she had written ‘Liger’.

_Ligur_.  
  


Ligur worked in the soup kitchen. He knew _Beez_. He knew _Hastur_.  


And _Uriel_ knew _Sandy_.

  
  


And Zira realised he was currently sitting in a springing trap.

  
  


“I’ve... I’ve had enough,” Zira stammered. “I... I don’t consent to a medical exam, or to any more questions and I want to... and I’m _going_ home. Immediately.”

Uriel and Ligur glanced at each other.

Zira swallowed. _Crowley would escape. Crowley would fight them. Crowley would jump out the window. Crowley would raise hell._

Zira couldn’t do any of that but...

Zira remembered the bus. He remembered not getting off the bus with Hastur. Not getting off the last bus.

Zira couldn’t be a fire, like Crowley could be. But, he could be a stone.

And these people would not get blood from a stone. 


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Anxiety, death of a spouse (original character), past homophobia, passing reference to stalking, Ana does not like the police, sectioning/deprivation of liberty, Crowley does not like the lawyers, vomiting, discussion of past complication of vomiting.
> 
> _Personal note: For self-care type reasons, I have decided to take my time going through comments on this story today. (I do promise I will read any and all over the next day or two. They are each so important to me.)_
> 
> _Consequentially, if something needs urgent attention (e.g. a troll leaves bigotry/slurs, or I’ve missed a content warning) can someone please message me though tumblr? Thank you, lovely people!_

Crowley sat, with his back to the wall of the cafe, and watched the door and street warily. London was a huge city, Crowley _knew_ this. The chances of Sandy, or Hastur, or anyone they knew, walking past this _particular_ dog-friendly cafe, and recognizing him, were tiny. He _knew_ this. And yet...

  
  
And yet each passing face felt like a threat. Each balding man, each trench coat, made his eyes snap towards them, made his breath catch. He took a sip of his coffee, instead of screaming.

Crowley and Newt had spent the morning, as promised, procuring, for Zira, better clothes, and a better wheelchair. Hypothetically, the shopping spree, financed by a credit card linked to Anathema’s mother’s holding company, was supposed to be for Crowley, as well. Crowley was no fonder of cheap jeans and lumpy jerseys than Zira was, after all. 

  
But,  Crowley had been unable to focus on anything but Zira, all day. Whenever he tried to look for himself, his eyes just drifted to Zira’s size, to imagining whatever garment with a tweed blazer. To the nearest swatch of light blue. 

While Crowley had been stalking through the men’s section of the department store, hunting for exactly the right shirts, Newt had been on the phone outside, letting Bentley sniff the flower boxes, and attempting to acquire a comfortable and yet foldable wheelchair at short notice.  


Crowley had doubted Newt’s mission was possible, but fate had been on their side. Newt had called the widow of a long-term patient of his, who, it turned out, had been meaning to sell her wife’s chair, but had never quite managed to figure out ‘the eBay’.

When they’d driven over to her house in Ana’s friend’s car, the widow, Emily, had hugged Newt, plied them both with fresh tea and scones, (plus an extra scone for Bentley) and had refused to accept as much a brass farthing for the chair. What she seemed to want most instead was to reminisce with Newt, and Newt, eyes sparkling, was happy to oblige.

So, Crowley had sat in an overstuffed arm chair, while Newt and Emily had laughed over the antics of, the admittedly fabulous-sounding, Hilda. Crowley listened, and hugged the shirts he’d bought for Zira to his chest, and tried not to cry. 

  
  


He tried not to cry because the world had been awful, lately.  


Awful.  


But Emily was _not_ awful, and Hilda _hadn’t_ been awful, and, for some reason, this had been completely overwhelming.

At some point, Emily had handed Crowley a photo of herself and Hilda, not from her legal wedding a few years ago, but from what she considered their realwedding, sometime in the seventies. Hildawas dressed in a long, flowing white linen dress.Emily was wearing an even then old fashioned dress in plain blue cotton. “I wish I’d had the nerve to wear burgundy,” Emily had whispered. “And put flowers in my hair. I would these days, would have just a few years later, but I was still so young. I always wore the sort of things my mother liked, then, because that’s what she told me _I_ liked too. It took me ten more years to figure out that I _didn’t_ like what my mother liked. Not at all.”

Crowley’s voice had beenhoarse. “I could paint you, the two of you, if you wanted. You in burgundy with the flowers, and Hilda just as she is in this photo, because, well, she looks smashing, doesn’t she?”

Emily hadsmiled, kindly. “That would be lovely, dear, if you ever find you have the time.”

  
  


Crowley had carefully photographed her photo with his cell phone, and then handed it back to her.

Emily had hugged _both_ of them when they left. 

Now, he and Newt sat in the cafe. Hilda’s wheelchair was in the car outside, but Crowley had brought the shirts with him inside, just as he had at Emily’s place. He ran the fabric between his fingers gently, as they sipped coffee, and waited for more news from Ana. He’d bought sky blue, baby blue, cornflower blue, and steel grey. He’d also bought a azure blue that he knew was far more intense than what Zira might pick out. But he’d bought it because he desperately, _desperately_ , wanted to see Zira in it. To see Zira’s eyes pop. To see how beautiful Zira would look in a colour that demanded attention.  Crowley only felt a _little_ bad about it.  
  


Crowley checked the time and sipped more coffee. “Why isn’t your girlfriend better about texting?” Crowley muttered.

Newt smiled, apparently not disagreeing enough to be willing to defend Ana. “I’ll text her. Get an update.” There was no immediate answer.

  
  


Ana _had_ sent several texts earlier.

_**We are here. No problems** _

**_Waiting! So much waiting!_ **

**_Met the social worker. Seemed okayish? Zira’s gone in. Remind me to show him more O’Keeffe._ **

_**The magazines here are shit. Ask Crowley about mushroom. Colour, not fungus** _

  
  


_**This is taking ages. I might break out into emoticons soon... or heaven forbid an emoji !** _

And then... for hours... nothing....

“You don’t suppose she’s drained her battery do you?”Crowley asked.

Newt looked thoughtful. “My texts are delivering. Maybe she’s talking to the social worker?”

“It’s nearly five...” Crowley observed.  
  


“I’ll try calling...”

  
  


The phone rang out. Newt frowned.

  
  


“Think you’ll marry her?” Crowley asked, by way of conversation.  
  


“I... I don’t know,” Newt mused. “I have to admit, that with all of this stuff, I’m tempted to at least ask her to draft some sort of legal thingy with me. It makes you think. Sorry, that’s _rude_ , isn’t it? You don’t want to be my cautionary tale, you just want to drink your coffee.”  
  


Crowley sighed, reaching under the table to scratch Bentley’s ears. “Actually, what I _really_ want, is to get my fiancé safely out of this damn city, and spend the next few weeks just sort of hugging him, and reading to him, and fluffing his pillows.I’m _worried_ about him, Newt. Really worried.”  
  


“Me too, actually,” Newt sighed. “Look. Will you think I’m the creepiest stalker in the world if I look up where Ana’s phone is? She doesn’t mind, honestly, as long as I only use it for stuff like checking when to have dinner ready.”  
  


“Stalk away!” Crowley shrugged.  
  


Newt smiled, typed something, waited, frowned. “Ana’s phone is at a police station...”

Crowley’s heart instantly plunged. Instantly.

Newt tried to smile at him. “Crowley, what? It’s _good_ news, probably. She lost her phone, someone handed it in, that’s why she’s not been texting.”

Crowley’s mouth was bone dry. “You think? You _really_ think? You really think that, after everything that’s happened... everything that’s... that Ana’s just lost her phone?”

“Well...um, yeah? People lose phones, sometimes. What do you think..?”

Crowley stood up. “We have to get down there. Now. Which police station?”

Newt was about to answer, when his phone rang. 

Crowley reached across and answered it, pressing speaker, “Who’s this?”

It was Ana. “ _Crowley! I’ve been arrested._ ”

Newt shot to his feet. “What the fuck? We’ll come get you, right...”

“ _Newt, no! I’ll handle me. You need to go to the building, where you dropped us, now! Find Zira! Something’s wrong..._ ”

“Zira’s not there?”

“ _Newt, go to that building, and call the lawyers.Tell them that we don’t know where Zira is. I hope he’s still in that building, but... I don’t know. Suddenly, there were cops there, and they told me to leave, and when I wouldn’t, well..._ ”

“Shit!”

“ _Newt! Focus! Drive yourself, and Crowley, to that building, now. And call Ms Chevalier, on the way. I think it’s probably a Section 136... and she needs to stop them converting it to a Section 2._ ”

Crowley stared at Newt. “What the fuck is happening?”

Newt stared at him, but replied to Ana. “Alright. We are on our way. But, we’ll come get you, as soon as we can.”

“ _No rush... I need time to finish casting curses on EVERY FASCIST IN THIS FUCKING STATION!!!”_

“Ana, _please_ stop pissing off the police...” Newt begged, even as he scrambled out of his chair, and untied Bentley’s lead.

“ _Oh, I haven’t even begun to..._ ”

The line clicked.

Newt looked pale, but swallowed. “She said Zira, so.. Zira. We find Zira first...”

Crowley wasn’t about to argue. “Newt, what is a section 136? What’s a section 2? Why are we talking like douchebag spies?”

Newt looked grim. “Come on. We’ll call the lawyer.”

* * *

  
  
“What do you mean ‘ _it was a trap_ ’? What do you mean ‘ _you knew_ ’?” Crowley screamed, down the phone, at the lawyer.

  
  


Chevalier did not seem at all put out. “ _When they sent their preferred ‘independent experts’, I had them investigated. I’m not an idiot._ ”

  
  


”What are you talking about?”

  
  


” _The doctor serves on some board with Zira’s brother, and goes to his church,”_ Chevalier replied, sounding bored. _“And the social worker you might know. A man called Ligur..._ ”

  
“FUCK!” Crowley screamed into the phone. The car jittered, as the sound made Newt flinch. “Do you have any idea what you have done?”

  
  
  


” _Mr Crowley, do calm yourself,”_ Chevalier replied. _“From the sounds of it, your friend Ana is right, and they are invoking the Mental Health Act and not the Mental Capacity Act which..._ ”

  
  


”WHO THE FUCK CARES?”

  
  


“ _YOU do, Mr Crowley. It suggests that they are desperate. They’ve gone all in, and they won’t win. When they try to present these reports, as independent, to the court, we have them. The judge- any judge- will go apoplectic. Judges hate being lied to..._”

  
  


“ _Everyone_ hates being lied to, INCLUDING ME,” Crowley roared. “What. About. Zira?”

  
  


“ _I will use all the tools at my disposal to prevent him being further committed under section 2 or 3..._ ”

  
  


”Stop saying numbers and help me!”

  
  


”... _WHICH MEANS we’ll have him back soon. There are strict time limits under 126. We should have him released in no more than about 6 hours. Now, I know ‘six’ is a number, but..._ ”

  
  


”You don’t _understand_ ,” Crowley wailed. “Ligur is Hastur’s best mate. They only _need_ six hours. In six hours, they could...”

  
  


  
” _Mr Crowley, please allow me to do my job and..._ ”

  
  


Crowley hung up on her. “Pull over,” he gasped. “I’m going to be sick.”

  
  


He was.

He hurled up coffee, and Emily’s scones, into the gutter. He did not, however, start haemorrhaging to death from the force of the vomiting. He barely cared.

_Six hours_?

”What do you want to do?” Newt whispered, quietly. “It sounds like she’s on it, the lawyer. I’m not sure we can help. Maybe we should...”

  
  


Crowley straightened up, his spine a column of fear and rage. “We are going to that building. Drive.”


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: mild violence, reference to arrest/jail, reference to sectioning, reference to pet euthanasia, reference to serious violence, ableism, Zira is harsh about Nevada

Arriving at the office building where they had left Zira, Newt and Crowley realised that they had no plan for Bentley.

Crowley had no intention of slowing down however. “Guess she’s coming with us,” he ground out through gritted teeth and marched through the front door.  
  


“Why not?” Newt replied, following closely behind. “Seems small potatoes compared with... what are we _doing_ , exactly?”

“Got a plan,” Crowley lied. Well... he did have a plan. A plan that involved ripping out Ligur’s brain stem through the back of his throat. But that didn’t seem wise to mention. Ugly words like “conspiracy to commit bodily harm” rattled through his brain. He was likely to spend the night in a jail cell, and who knew how many after, but what could he do? What else could he do... just _stand by_ and...

  
  


Despite Bentley, no one stopped them, or even seemed to pay much attention. When they reached the elevator, Newt set his phone recording. Whether that would help or hinder, Crowley had no idea. 

  
  


“Do you think he’s even still here?” Crowley asked Newt.  
  


“I don’t know, maybe?” Newt sighed. “It will look better for them, if they took him to a hospital for assessment, at some point, that ‘place of safety business’. But might not have yet if he isn’t cooperating. Do you think he’s cooperating?”

  
  


“Doubt it,” Crowley muttered. “He hated the whole idea of this. Hated it. Fuck... I should have listened. Also, ‘place of safety’?”

  
“It’s a legal term. Usually means a police station or a mental health facility.”

  
Crowley choked out a laugh. “Well that’s... _Orwellian_ , isn’t it?”

  
  


Newt bit his lip and pulled on his fingers.

Crowley soothed Bentley, who wobbled and hated the lift, and then, there was no more time.

  
  


Someone must have called Ligur within seconds of Crowley showing up. He appeared so quickly Crowley didn’t even see where he’d come from. “You can’t be here, Crowley...”

  
  


Apparently, the bastard had been _expecting_ him.

  
  


Apparently, the bastard _had not been expecting_ to be shoved into a wall. “Where is he?”

  
  


“Crowley, you can’t...”

“ _ **Where is he**_?”

Bentley yapped and barked unhappily, not knowing what to do. Crowley’s stomach twisted . If she bit someone, they would seize her, and put her down.

_Why did I bring her? I can’t lose her too..._

A moment later, though, Bentley’s ears pricked and she charged down the corridor to the right. 

Crowley slammed Ligur into the wall again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Newt surreptitiously slip after Bentley. As he was neither shouting, nor assaulting anyone, no one was playing Newt much mind.

“It’s over, Crowley,” Ligur hissed. “All your sick little games.”

“ _My_ sick little games?” Crowley roared. “How fucking dare you! How _dare_ you...”

The lift pinged behind Crowley, and Crowley wheeled around, still holding Ligur’s collar, expecting to face police officers.  


Instead, however, he saw Ms Chevalier strut off the lift. It wasn’t really the moment to covet the red boots she was wearing, but Crowley was only human. She was flanked by a older man, in a jet black trench boat, and by a younger woman, in a pair of white trousers worthy of Katherine Hepburn.

Ms Chevalier smiled. “Mr Crowley! How utterly unsurprising to find you here. Ignoring my advice entirely.”

“Who the hell are you?” Ligur snapped, annoyed.

“I’m Syrah Chevalier. These are my partners Mr Douglas Ryder and Ms Bianca Dullahan.We represent Crowley here, and Zira. And, Ligur, if you have a working knowledge of law firms, you might be feeling a little nervous, right now. But, don’t worry, you haven’t gone to far... _yet_. You can still come back from this.”

Ligur turned on Crowley with fury. “Fuck you! You think you can just turn your fancy lawyers on me...”

Bianca Dullahan glided forward. “Do excuse me, sir. But if you indulge me, I think I can help...”

There was something oily and hypnotic about the way she moved. Ligur couldn’t seem to turn away.

Bianca handed him a little iPod with headphones. “Just click play,” she crooned.

Ligur did, warily, sliding the headphones into his ears. After about twenty seconds, his eyes popped in surprise, he looked uncertain. Then, he stopped whatever he was listening to and stared at Crowley.

Crowley turned to Chevalier. “ _The fuck_?”

“Allow me to explain, Mr Crowley,” Bianca purred. “When our firm took you and your fiancé on as clients, I took the liberty of doing a little... digging. It’s what I do best. _Mining_ for information. And, what luck! A recorded phone conversation, between your acquaintances Beez and Hastur, happened to come into my possession. I couldn’t _possibly_ say how... Anyway, Beez has been spinning stories to Ligur here. Silly little fly! she should leave that to the spiders, no? Ligur here has been operating under the impression that _you_ are the one who robbed and beat your fiancé, and that you then convinced him, in his feeble state, to frame Hastur. To allow for a fraudulent insurance claim for imaginary stolen goods. Ligur just listened to a phone conversation that confirms... well... a truth _far closer_ to your own, Mr Crowley.”

Crowley blinked. “Beez said I what? _Bloody hell_. I mean, she’s told some whoppers in her time, but... _fuck_.”

“People tell all sorts of lies when reality starts to spin away from their preconceived notions,” Bianca mused, sing-song. “They even tell lies to themselves. It’s called cognitive dissonance. Aren’t people _fascinating_? Anyway, you should back down, Ligur. Right now. You won’t want to. You’ll want to cling to your preconceived notion. Right now your brain is frantically trying to figure out a way to make me the liar. But, the thing is, Ligur, you need to resist that. You need to be smart, _right now_. You let my clients go, right now, and nothing bad happens to you. You do anything else, and... well...”  
  


Ligur swallowed. “It’s not that simple. I’ve already got a doctor here...”

Bianca laughed. “Oh, don’t worry! She’s handled!” She waved a ominous-looking folder in Ligur’s face. “God bless good Christian woman, am I right? I think their sins might be the best ones! And, nobody rakes muck like me!”  
  


Ligur paused. He was refusing to look Crowley in the eye.  
  


Chevalier stepped forward. “Lead us to Zira, Ligur. There’s a good man.”  
  


Ligur gestured down the hall.

  
  


It was obvious where they were going. A few doors down the corridor, a woman was holding a door partway open, and arguing vehemently with Newt from the other side. Newt was hopping from one foot to another, very clearly wanting to barge through the door, but having not quite worked up the nerve to bowl this woman over.  
  


“How dare you bring that filthy animal in here?” the woman was shouting.  
  


Newt flinched. “Well... how dare YOU dishonour your oath to do no harm!”  
  


The woman pointed a finger in his chest. “I will have you know...”

“Blue Heron Galaxy International Holdings,” Bianca announced.

These were five random words, as far as Crowley was concerned, but the effect on the woman Newt was arguing with was immediate. She shrieked.

Newt took the opportunity to push past her, and Crowley followed immediately, hoping against hope that...  
  


Crowley couldn’t see much of Zira, at first, because Zira’s lap and arms were full of Labrador, and his fingers and face were pressed into silky black fur.

“Bentley get down!” Newt implored her. “You’ll fall off, you goose!”

“Angel..?” Crowley whispered. “Zira?”

At first, all that happened was that the grip on the precariously balanced dog tightened, but then Zira looked up. His face was puffy, red and tight. His eyes swollen and sad. “They cheated!” he whispered. “I tried, I did! But they cheated and I’m sorry, my love. My dear...”

“Shh, shh, Angel,” Crowley whispered. He placed his hand gently on the base of Zira’s head, but only as an anchor, Crowley lowered himself the whole way. He kissed him, gently, repeatedly, yes, but mostly he looked into Zira’s eyes.

Zira was there. Hurt again, which squeezed Crowley’s heart. But Zira was _there_. Crowley didn’t really realise fully what he had feared until this moment. He’d feared hollow, catatonic eyes. But Zira was there. Hurt. But there.

“Crowley, they cheated! They aren’t neutral at all. They know Hastur and Sandy,” Zira moaned.

“Angel, I’m here. I’m here.”

“Crowley they CHEATED!” Zira raged, his voice strangled.

“Oh, I know, I know. I’m here. We’re here, we’ve got this. We’ve got you. Angel. Angel.”

  
  


Pressed between them, Bentley licked Crowley’s chin messily. 

Crowley _chuckledmoanedsobbed_.

Zira’s shoulders shook silently.

Crowley could hear _someone_ crying, though. It was the fucking doctor. Crying, while Bianca Dullahan’s oily voice crooned on and on. Crowley held onto Zira, so he didn’t march up to the doctor and slap her stupid face.

They stayed in the moment, for a while. Two men and a dog, on a dissociated little island. They let events swirl around them.

Finally, Crowley slipped back to reality, almost by accident, and noticed that the other lawyer, Douglas Ryder, had pulled up a chair and was watching them, his fingers woven together.   
  


“Thank you,” Crowley managed to mutter in his direction.

“You’re welcome,” Mr Ryder replied calmly.

Crowley sighed. “Why are you going to so much trouble to help us?”

“Money,” Mr Ryder answered, immediately. “I’ve been investigating this trust fund, you told Syrah about. The two of you are about to be very rich men. I’d be stupid _not_ to make you grateful to me.”

Crowley supposed he appreciated his honesty. “Right. Well... I think I should take Zira home... I mean _Oxfordshire_... and...”

“No,” Mr Ryder replied calmly.

Crowley wanted to scream. “Oh, what now? Look at him! _Look_! Have mercy...”

Mr Ryder sighed. “I’m sorry. But the two of you are getting on a plane to Nevada. My assistant Eric is swinging by your London house to pick up passports. Then straight to the airport. I want a marriage certificate dated this week. By the time you come back, I assure you, my firm will have smoothed out the waters considerably. You don’t worry about these things any more. You pay me to do it.”

Crowley blinked.

“Nevada?” Zira asked. He sounded muffled by dog and a little forlorn. 

Mr Ryder shrugged. “You could do Hawaii, I suppose if you wanted, but Nevada is easier, and a shorter flight...”

“How can your assistant swing by our house?” Crowley asked. “You don’t have keys!”

“We changed the locks once we took you on as clients,” Mr Ryder replied calmly. “So actually, _you_ don’t have keys...”

Crowley bristled. “Oi, for that! Just Oi! And also, we can’t just fly to Nevada, and...”

“We can,” Zira replied, quietly. “Please Crowley. I’m so tired, and scared. I need this. I’d _swim_ to Nevada, to feel safe, at this point...”

“Wrong coast, Angel.”

“Nevada doesn’t have a coast,” Zira retorted. “And, I could swim via Panama. Are you saying I can’t?”

“Never,” Crowley smiled. “Although, I would have assumed you’d take the straits of Magellan, that being the classical thing to do.”  
  


“But, I don’t think Magellan was a terribly good person, dear. And besides, swimming all that way, and not seeing Tierra del Fuego? It’s barely beyond the Antarctic circle, and yet called the Lands of Fire. How can a place like that _not_ be fascinating?”

Crowley stroked Zira’s arm. “I love you so much it hurts.”

“Well, that’s lucky! Because, apparently, we are to be wed by an Elvis Priestly impersonator tomorrow.”

“I don’t think it _has_ to be an Elvis impersonator, just because it’s Vegas,” Crowley replied.

“Well, as long as whoever it is dons their very finest bolo tie, I shalln’t complain.”

“Come here, you adorable snob! Let me kiss you,” Crowley whispered. “God, they didn’t hurt you, did they? My poor Angel.”

“Well... they... Oh! Poor Bentley! What shall happen to her, while we go to America?!”

Mr Ryder leaned forward. “Well, as Dr Device will have to surrender her passport - she got arrested, Zira, when she wouldn’t leave without you- I’m sure she would be happy to care for Puppy here. Or else, I shall have someone organise a doggy spa, of some sort?”

“Oh, poor Ana!” Zira gasped. “How will I ever make it up to her?”

Crowley smiled. “Make up what? Missing our wedding? Or missing out on meeting Elvis?”

“For _getting arrested_ , dear. I’m sure there’s no need to apologize for her missing Vegas...”

“ Nah, don’t worry, Angel. She’ll probably be freelancing an article about the experience, for The Guardian, by the end of the week. Bet you ten pounds.”   
  


“We are going to America dear,” zira sighed. “One must bet me ‘ _bucks_ ’. Or perhaps, those little gambling tokens? Which are the legal tender in Las Vegas, again? Remind me?”

“Vegas won’t be so bad, Angel. It’s not just casinos. We’ll go in a hot air balloon... get matching tramp stamp tattoos... oh, something you’ll actually like! Magic shows! There are tonnes!”

Mr Ryder smiled. “Then there will be tickets to the very best magic shows waiting at the concierge desk, when you arrive! Syrah will wait with you, until Eric arrives, just in case. And then, he’ll take it from there. I look forward to a long working relationship, gentlemen. Good day.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah... I know you only helped us to make bank, but... thanks? Also what does Eric look like? Not to be paranoid, but...”

“Fair enough,” Mr Ryder replied. “I suggest this. When a man comes up to you and says ‘Hi, I’m Eric!’ ask yourself the following question... ‘ _Could this man be wearing any more eyeliner_?’ If the answer is no, then it’s Eric.” Ryder chuckled to himself as he walked away.

“Bet he’s fun at parties,” Crowley muttered.“Come on, Bentley, down girl. My turn for a hug.” Bentley thus dislodged, Crowley enveloped Zira, cradled him, clung to him. “We’re getting married.”

“We are.”

“And, I’m literally not letting you out of my sight until then. _Literally_. I’m coming into all bathrooms with you, and sleeping with my eyes open. Notsorry on that, by the way.”

“I love you, my dear.”

“I bought you shirts. Don’t let me forget the shirts.”

“I won’t. You very likely bought my wedding shirt, today... unless a Vegas Hotel gift shop is more stylish than I’m presuming...”

“Oh! Can I pick which one you wear?”

“I don’t see why not...”

Crowley laughed. “You are going to regret that, just there...”

Zira just rested his head against Crowley’s chest.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: minor ableism, reference to drugs

Zira went to get married in the azure blue shirt Crowley had bought for him, and the wheelchair borrowed from Emily.

“Plus your old soul and my young one,” Crowley quipped. “Seems we’re more organized than we thought!”

“I must look a fright!” Zira replied, winsome. “This _mortifying_ week, and I’ve barely slept, and you got me drunk on the plane.”

“You are beautiful. Always beautiful,” Crowley replied. “And, I wish I’d gotten you drunk at the airport. Turns out planes and airports are accessibility nightmares!”  
  


“Famously so, my dear. Believe me, that was nothing. I’m relatively mobile, don’t use a power-chair, we were able to preboard into first class, and we had Eric to grease all the skids. What some people go through, would turn your beautiful hair grey...”  
  


Crowley sighed. “Maybe that’s what we should do, with all this money...tilt at aviation company windmillsuntil they stop being shitheads...”  
  


Zira smiled. “Maybe. I’ve heard there’s a lot of good still to be done with malaria, and with vitamin A, and... I don’t know... I was thinking about landmines? The money came from building weapons and... oh, I don’t know. I don’t know the first thing about philanthropy, honestly.”

“Maybe there’s an online course we can take?” Crowley smiled. “And, you are beautiful. Did I say that already?”

“You did, dear. Yes. But you can say it as many times as you feel the urge...”

“Oh don’t say that, Angel! That’s just me saying it on a loop until the end of time...”

Zira laughed. “You are a wily flatterer. And _also_ very beautiful. I can’t believe I get to marry you in... where are we going exactly, Eric?”

“Is not far. It nice, the place. Not super interesting, but you seem to be picturing fluorescent balloon arches, and plastic lawn flamingos, so I reckon you’ll be pleasantly surprised, anyway. It’s fully booked, which is why you’ve been fit in after hours! Rich people perks, eh? And I figured you wouldn’t care cause your time zones are still all fucked up anyway....”

  
  


“And we, indeed, don’t mind at all, Eric dear,” Zira replied. “You’ve been doing such a wonderful job, organizing everything for us. Please don’t think I’m not grateful, just because I’m not a fan of.... ohh Crowley! Look at the fountain!”

Crowley snorted, and sung under his breath. “ _You like Vegas. You like Vegas_ ”

“There is a certain art of the spectacle, one can’t help but admire,” Zira replied, primly. 

“Ahh come on! I want to get married. We can look at the fountain later.”

The venue had a white marble floor, a minimum of columns and gold leaf, some wrought iron fixtures that Crowley didn’t hate, and some warm white fairy lights that Zira claimed to find a bit much, but which shone in his eyes anyway.

It also had Gabe sitting in it.

Crowley growled like a wounded animal and stalked toward him. “No. Go away. What are you _doing_ here?”

Gabe stood up, his hands clutched awkwardly together . “I... it’s my little brother’s wedding. I’m not here to make trouble. I’ll just stand in the back, and not say anything. I’m sorry about Michael. She takes that ketamine shit all the time, apparently. Really did think she was helping... I’ve read it’s not great for people with mental health issues, though, so...anyway, I’m sorry. So, can I stay?”

  
  


Crowley grunted, and stared at the ceiling for a moment. “It’s not up to me. Hang on...”  
  


Crowley walked back to Zira. “Angel? Do you want me to send him packing? One word, and I’ll....”

“I don’t know...” Zira replied, trying to organise his thoughts, while looking at the floor. “I suppose, if he really doesn’t make any trouble...”

“Want me to go borrow a bouncer?” Eric asked. “Just say the word...”

Zira looked up. Looked over at Gabe. Who looked back. They might not have actually looked at each other in a decade, Zira thought. “He can stay, if it’s truly alright by Crowley.”

Crowley shrugged at Gabe. “You heard the man. Sandy is a hard no, however, if you’ve got him stuffed in your back pocket.”

“Sandy’s got enough to worry about,” Gabe muttered, before noticing their faces and clarifying. “Apparently he’s been embezzling from the Eastern Gate Foundation charity, with a few of his mates? Some scam called Heron Galaxy, or something? The board will have to fire him. Might even do some prison time, if it gets too much press.”  
  


“I reckon Bianca knows plenty of journalists,” Crowley whispered to Zira. “Don’t you?”

Zira smiled, thinly, at Gabe. “I always said you should have given the Foundation to me to run. Instead of Sandy. I would have... well, not _stealing_ is a pretty low bar, in any case.”

Gabe sighed. “I... yeah. For what it’s worth, Zira, you can have the Foundation now. If you want it...”

“I’m sorry, no,” Zira sighed. “I’ve been through too much at that place. You humiliated me, there, for years, the two of you. And, I’m so tired. Do you know what my plan for my ‘wedding night’ is? Well, ‘wedding early morning’ at this point, isn’t it? Anyway, I plan to cry, messily, in a corner for about six hours, and then sleep for the next eighteen. And you did that to me. You and Sandy. You chose him, long ago, whatever you say now, and you’ll have to live with that. You can stay and watch the ceremony, if you wish, but... you chose Sandy and that remains a fact.”

Gabe looked confused. “But, I hate Sandy. He’s the biggest pain in my ass there is! He...”

“Sandy wasn’t demoted to the mail room, and then security guard, and then fired all together.Now, there’s nothing wrong with being a mail room worker, or a security guard, but the two of you did it to humiliate me, and it worked. _Everyone_ who worked there knew, everyone talked. Everyone _laughed_. I had no friends there... and yet, I stayed and stayed and stayed, because I wanted... I wanted to be part of my family. But... it’s too late, now. I don’t want that anymore. I don’t want that life,your life, _that_ family. I want Crowley, and Bentley, and Newt and Ana. I want to go back to university, and help Crowley with his nursery, maybe.... I want to get married, to cry, and to sleep.And then wake up, and live my own life.”  
  


Gabe nodded. “I... thank you, for letting me stay.” He sat back down.

Zira turned back to Crowley. “Sorry for the fuss. Not exactly in the spirit of the occasion...”

“I’m so proud of you,” Crowley interrupted, gently. “So lucky... I’m...” his voice caught. “Let’s get married, yeah?”

The celebrant did _not_ resemble Elvis, and wore no tie, bolo or otherwise, but seemed a decent chap. 

Crowley and Zira _thought_ they didn’t have rings, but Eric did, and seemed vaguely insulted that he might not have had any.  
  


What they didn’t have were vows prepared. So, in the great tradition of hungover elopements, they decided to wing it.

Crowley went first. “Zira. I love how strong you are, but hate how strong you’ve had to be. I love how kind you are, right to your core, and hate that you’ve had anything but kindness, in return. You inspire me, confound me, and fill me to the back of my throat with joy. I don’t quite remember when I started calling you Angel, but I know I’ve never been more right about anything, in my life. I promise to always fight for you, and to never rest except when you are safe with me.I promise to be your champion.”

“Crowley. I thought that I had finished growing. That I would never have more, and sought to be quietly grateful, with my quiet life. Then, you came into my life like a whirlwind, and brought change, and passion and beauty. I love the roaring fire within you, how it warms, how it smelts, how it transforms the world around it. You paint my door with gold, and you charge into danger for me, and you’ve followed me, wherever I’ve needed to go. Bravely taken on my demons, as well as your own. I love how _brave_ you are. My hero. My Crowley.”

The celebrant smiled at them. “Honestly? That was pretty good, for off the cuff. You should hear some of the ones we get! Now, do you want to do the kiss... I know it’s not as much of a thing, in England, and...”

“Yes, please,” Zira said.

They kissed, yes, but they embraced as well, and Zira didn’t want to let go.  
  


He realised Crowley was crying.  
  


“I’m sorry,” Crowley sniffed. “I just... it feels like you are finally safe, now. Like I can breathe again. And I’m... I can’t stop...”

“Hush, dear. It’s alright. We scheduled some nervous breakdown time, remember? Wedding, break down, nervous collapse, fitful sleep, followed by a buffet and a show!”

“Two down, then,” Crowley sniffed. “At least, for me. You wanna break down here?”

“No darling, you go first. Simultaneous break downs are the stuff of pornography.”

The celebrant laughed. “And, here was I thinking that British people were too stuffy to kiss at the altar, and now we are discussing pornography!”

“Sorry, my good fellow,” Zira replied. “It’s been a long week. Now, if we can have our paperwork?”

“I’ve got it,” Eric chirped, happily. “Recorded the ceremony, too, and copies of everything are in the cloud, and the firm servers, already. Mr Ryder told you, we’ve got this. Now, let’s take your husband back to the hotel, before he falls down.”

“My husband!” Zira repeated, giddily. “Crowley did you hear that?”

Crowley smiled, and wiped his face, with a tissue the celebrant offered. “I did hear it, yeah! Now, get him to call me your legal next of kin, ‘cause that will _really_ get me going...”

Zira giggled again, and Crowley laughed.  
  


“Angel, are you completely wedded to the idea of doing your crying in a corner? Cause, we could move it to a sofa, if you are in a cuddly mood, or you into a bubble bath if you aren’t... let me spoil you a little.”

“I am completely wedded to _you_ , my dear. And, most happy to cuddle. Would you like to watch a film, if we can agree on one?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, I like that idea. A movie. Actually, I know one we’ll both really like. One of my favourites. The Sound of Music!”  
  


Zira stared.  
  


“.... Oh, my _god_ , Angel! I’m kidding, _obviously_! We’ll watch one of your cute animal movies. You should have seen _your face_...”  
  


“What about my face?”  
  


“It’s the face of an Angel.  _Obviously...”_  
  


Just a little later, curled up together in their suite, two glasses of champagne and the first twenty minutes of Zootopia had them asleep in each other’s arms.


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: references to ableism, reference to eating disorders, reference to PTSD, reference to pass violence, reference to previous arrest, references to previous imprisonment, spiders

Crowley would not have believed that there was a human being alive that had been more tired than he was.

It turned out, however, that there has been, and that Crowley had married him.  


Even after Crowley had dosed, snoozed, rolled over and dawdled, as long as he could, Zira was still firmly asleep. Zira was snoring, as he sometimes did, but, even when he did, he snored quietly.

“You are even overly considerate when you snore, husband-angelspouse-type person,” Crowley murmured to Zira’s sleeping form. “Do you know that? Do you?”

Crowley supposed it was a Ginger Rogers type thing, where everything Crowley did, Zira did with a wheelchair and with PTSD.

_Except you’ve got a trauma illness too!_ his brain reminded him. _Don’t forget! Seriously, don’t forget! When was the last time you did your thought audit? Filled in your food log...?_

“Oh, don’t you start!” Crowley muttered aloud, and tried to muffle the voices in his head with a pillow, which, of course, didn’t work, for at least two reasons.

While what Crowley’s brain was reminding him of was perfectly true, it was, also, the start of a much bigger conversation. An overwhelming list of problems they still had.  


Even married.

Even stupidly enwealthened, with stupidly competent lawyers.  


There was still so much to _do_.

_It’s not fair_ , Crowley sighed. _No wonder Zira is staying asleep even longer._

  
  


_Thank goodness he’s staying asleep even longer!_

  
  


Crowley watched him, for a while. Zira was, as ever, a soft and creamy peach, and was wrapped in a fluffy, fluffy doona, like it was a cloud bank. 

_Angel Angel Angel_

Crowley didn’t quite trust himself not to kiss his husband...

_Husband_!  
  


... awake, if he stayed in the room, so he went for a wander.  
  


It was daylight out, which was information, and there was a gift shop, and it was open.  
  
  


_And crappy!  
  
_

Crowley sort of loved crappy gift shops. Redesigning everything, in his head, was fun!

Then, he found a little key chain that said ‘I married an angel in Sin City’ and bought it immediately.

He inquired at the desk about breakfast, and was informed how to download the room service App, and politely _not informed_ it was three in the afternoon.  
  


Then, he went back to the room.  
  


Walking through the door, he heard that Zira was awake, and felt a sudden panicky guilt about not leaving a note. This was no everyday awakening, afterall.

But Zira smiled at him, heartfeltly, when he hurried into the bedroom, and gave a quick little wave, before turning his attention back to the phone.

He was FaceTiming with Newt, Crowley realised quickly, or, more accurately, with Bentley.  
  


Bentley, it seemed, wanted none of this.

Crowley supposed he couldn’t blame her. Dogs lived by their noses, after all, and a miniature, flat image of Dad, dad’s voice but slightly tinny, and no Dad-smell at all? That must be... well... _spooky_. Like a Zira ghost. 

Zira was sounding a little needy, though, at Bentley’s lack of interest, so Crowley elected to interrupt.

“Heya, Newt!” Crowley called. “Or rather, Howdy? Are we too far north to say ‘howdy’? How does ‘ _howdy_ ’ work? Actually, never mind, because is Ana alright?”

Newt appeared on the phone rather than an avoidant Bentley. “ _Hi Crowley! Congratulations! You don’t need me to wish you happiness, because well, Zira, but I wish it anyway. And yes, Ana’s fine. I was just telling Zira before, that between Ana’s mum’s lawyers and your lawyers, they managed to get the American Ambassador down to that pokey little police station! Not sure the top-brass would have climbed out from under their desks, yet! The charges are all but dropped. Hate that we missed your wedding, though. Eric sent us the video. You two are... well, it was really touching._ ”  
  


Crowley felt himself flush a little. “Family now, Newt. You are stuck with me for good.”  
  


“ _Sure am_!” 

“Anything else going on?”

Newt looked thoughtful, and cautious, for a moment, before taking a breath and pressing on. “ _Yeah, actually. Syrah Chevalier got copies of the surveillance videos from all the buses. Of Zira and Hastur. Some witness statements, too. She’s used it to get Hastur’s bail revoked. Proof he’s hassling Zira. So... I was going to move back over your house. You know, for Bentley. Get her back in her normal environment_.”  
  


“Our house,” Zira said after a moment. “You called it ‘your house’. But it’s your house too, remember. That’s not changed.”  
  


“It would be alright if it had, Zira,” Newt answered, gently. “You just got married. You’ve been taking care of me for a long time.”

“And you have been taking care of me for a long time, Newt. And Ana just got arrested for me, and you are taking care of dear Bentley for me. You’ll never not be welcome, and I’ll never get tired of telling you as such.”  
  


Newt cleared his throat. “But, Crowley, are you okay with...”

“More than,” Crowley answered at once. “I know a package deal, when I see one. And I can’t say I’m sorry about it. It’s nice having a Newt.”

Newt had seemed pleased, and Zira had seemed pleased too. After one more fruitless attempt to engage with Bentley, the call ended.

  
  


Crowley showed off his keychain, and Zira laughed.  
  


Then, about five minutes later, Zira started to cry, and buried himself back under the bedclothes.

“Angel! Sweetheart! What is it?” Crowley crooned, and gently caressed the sobbing doona.

The doona said something that sounded like ‘spiders’, which didn’t sound right. 

So Crowley crooned, and stroked, some more, and then gently prodded. “Hastur?”

  
  


The doona nodded.

“Oh, Angel. It’s a good thing! He’s locked up again. He _deserves_ it... if anyone does. You’ll be safe. You can go back to your house.”

Zira sniffled. “But, he won’t be in jail forever, Crowley. And neither will Sandy, if he even goes. And, they hated me already, Crowley. Enough to hurt me, so badly. Even when I’d never done anything to them. And now, I’ve ... well, same thing, my lawyers have...gone after them. Had them sent away! How much will they hate me now? What will they do to me now?”

Crowley’s voice caught in his throat. “Or... or they’ll learn a lesson, not to mess with you. That you there’ll be consequences.”

“Do you really think it works that way?” 

“I... “ Crowley hesitated. “I do. Yes.”  
  


_What did prison teach you?_

Zira would never be cruel enough to ask Crowley that. Crowley’s brain had no such scruples.

“Please, Angel. Come out...”

“... you can come in if you want...”

Crowley did. “Kisses? Nuzzles? Does that sound okay?”

Zira nodded. 

And, Crowley kissed him gently.“Sweetheart... did you say spiders before?”

“There’s a dream. These pale spiders... crawling all over me. In my clothes. In my mouth...”

“Have you always been afraid of spiders?” 

Zira exhaled, heavily. “I’m not afraid of spiders _now!_ Just _these_ spiders...from the dream...”

“What do you think the dream means?” 

Zira didnt answer, exactly. He did nuzzle Crowley back a little. And, his breath was warm and sweet 

“Did you brush your teeth already?” Crowley asked. 

“Before I called Newt. My breath was awful..”

“You know how phones work, right?” 

Zira smiled. “I do, yes. Awful _for me_ , I meant.”

“I downloaded an app,” Crowley said. “We can get breakfast, if you like. Oh look, they have _Grit_! That sounds appetising! And, all the juice has wheatgrass in it, for no reason, and I can smell the awful coffee from here...”

“You might like grits, my dear. They can be quite tasty...”

“Then, why did they name it after dirt?” Crowley muttered. “And for that matter... oh good lord, what are Funeral Potatoes?”

Zira giggled. “Just a potato casserole dear, more or less. Do they have Rocky Mountain Oysters? Or Frog Eye salad?”

“Don’t tease. I know the first ones testicles, and you made up the second one.”

“I _didn’t_ , actually...”

Crowley snorted. “And, to think, they tease us for OUR food! What goes on a Monte Cristo Sandwich, exactly? Vengeance with a side order of financial malfeasance...? Oh here we go... pancakes, grilled-cheese sandwich, that’s actual food, oh! A rainbow roll? That sounds festive! What takes your fancy?”

Zira peered at the app. “I would like a ‘breakfast burrito’! When in Rome, and all that! What about you dear?”

“I think I’ll have a cob salad, assuming that ‘cob’ means neither bread, nor horse, in this context... let’s see...”

“I think the spiders are Hastur,” Zira sighed. “Hastur’s hands.”

Crowley kissed his temple. “Yeah. I think so too, Angel. I’m sorry. Hang in there, alright? We’ll get you help. It won’t be like this forever.I don’t know how to make the dreams go away. But, we’ll look for a way.And when we get back home to London, I’ll paint a giant spider-eating bird over the bed. And, I’ll be sleeping right beside you, every night, wearing my spider squishing boots. “

“Boots _in_ the bed?”

“Yep! So, don’t worry. For now, we’ll get some food, and then go to that magic show tonight. You’ll like it. And then more cuddling, and bubbles, champagne or bubble bath. Your choice.”

* * *

Zira _did_ like the magic show. Crowley liked Zira liking the magic show.

“But the ball, Crowley! I know it was on a string, but I couldn’t see it, and it acted just like a little dog, and jumped right through that hoop, like it was alive, and... oh I miss Bentley, don’t you?”

“I love you, Zira,” Crowley whispered. 

“Don’t whisper, dear, you know I can’t hear, and isn’t it dry here? And the thing with the rope, how do they _do_ that? I mean I KNOW how it must be done, but the skill involved! Probably beyond me, these days, with my right hand how it is... but wouldn’t it be fun to learn? And, oh and didn’t that ball make you think of Bentley?”  
  


“I love you,” Crowley said again.    
  


”And I love you too dear... only... where do you think that glass of water came from?”

  
  


Crowley laughed.


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to PTSD/ PTSD symptoms, dream imagery, chronic pain, references to eating disorder, sexual content, reference to prior injuries, mention of institutionalisation, self hatred.

Crowley dreamed. More teeth fell out. A dentist ignored him. The teeth crumbled in his hands and the rest started to fall from his mouth, even as he begged. He woke up frightened, and unsure why.

He thought, for a moment, Zira was asleep but then Zira’s arms crept around his shoulders, and he caught the sound of Zira’s exhalations. Tiny moans or grunts. And it was morning, enough light to catch the lines furrowed down the middle of Zira’s forehead. The tightness around the outside of his nose and eyes.

Crowley knew this one. _Bad pain day._

“Oh, Angel,” Crowley whispered. “What can I do?”

They had none of Zira’s medication with them, he realised, and he didn’tknow how doctors worked in this country. He had a vague impression that it was... _badly_. But... they had money, now, didn’t they?  
  


“Angel, I’ll call Eric,” Crowley said. “He’ll know how to get someone up here... or, I’m sure there’s a phone book at the front desk, I can...”

Zira shook his head. “No, thank you, my dear. I... I can’t explain any of this today. I don’t have it in me. No new people, today. It’s not so bad, and I’ll be alright, provided I’m not expected to _do_ very much of anything...”

“It _is_ bad, though,” Crowley sighed. Zira’s shoulders and thighs were rock hard with tension. “Your back?”

“Yes, my dear. And a hip is acting up on me, as well. But please, no new people today. Just us, today, please. It’s not unbearable. I’m not there yet.”

“Alright,” Crowley agreed. “But, love. I don’t know what to do? Do you want me out of the bed? Is touching nice? Or is touching fire ants? I’m sorry to make you talk, but I don’t know.”

“Touching is fine,” Zira sighed. “Lovely, actually.”

Crowley cautiously kissed his shoulder. “All right...”

“Oh, and could you order more food, please?”!Zira asked. “I’m not sure I can eat, but for you. I’ve not been as careful with your health as I should have been, lately. _Neglectful_. You deserve better.”  
  


Crowley’s stomach churned at this. “Stop it, Angel. You’ve been busy. I’ll eat. And I’ll get you something as well. You might feel more hungry when you smell it, but you won’t take any of mine cause you’ll feel too guilty. And, if you aren’t up to the food, well... I miss Bentley.”

“Me too,” Zira admitted. “There is no mountain of dog on the bed, and it just doesn’t feel right. Why did it take you to tell me how much I wanted a dog? I.... _oh! Ouch!_ ”

“You okay? What happened?”

Zira smiled, wryly. “I tried to shift myself a bit. Bad move.”

“No moving seems to be the order of the day,” Crowley whispered, kissing the beloved, tense shoulder again, and settled himself flush with Zira’s body, but jostled the mattress as little as possible doing so.

“Which hip is it?” 

“The other one...”

Crowley’s fingers ghosted Zira’s closest hip. “So this one?”

  
  


“The _other_ , other one...”  
  


Crowley very gently nuzzled his neck. “Poor Angel.”

Crowley held Zira gently. He hated that Zira was in pain, and that he could do so little about it. Worse, despite the pain he was in, Zira still felt like Zira, _smelled_ like Zira, and Crowley found himself becoming aroused. And shifting to conceal this from Zira would only jostle the mattress. “Sorry about that,” he whispered, miserably. “Sorry.”  
  


Zira laughed. Laughed _carefully_. “Sorry for what, my dear? I take it as a compliment.”

“But, it’s awful!” Crowley muttered. “You can’t breathe without flinching, and yet here I am! Does my penis have no empathy? I’m ashamed to be associated with it, at this point...”

“That penis of yours is certainly nothing to be ashamed of...”

“Oh, don’t _flirt_! You are only encouraging it! And I am mortified. I’m drafting a statement, distancing myself from it, as we speak...”

Zira laughed again, _un-carefully_ , and flinched. “Oh, _ouch_! Don’t, my dear! You were dreaming, by the way, right before you woke up... You seemed to wake straight out of it. I hate when that happens to me, it’s so unpleasant. Disorientating... and my mind doesn’t feel right. Are _you_ all right, my dear?”  
  


Crowley _did_ still feel partly trapped in the dream. It’s tendrils were still clinging. “How could you tell I was dreaming?”

“How could _you_ tell I was having a bad pain day? We know each other, darling. We are under each other’s skin...”

Crowley snorted. “Like hook worms?”

“I think I should prefer, like a tattoo,” Zira replied, thoughtfully. “You are written within me.”

“Changed your mind on the matching tramp stamps?” 

“Never, I’m afraid. My back always hurts enough as it is.”

“Oh, course it is. I’m sorry...”

“Sorry for what, my dear? There’s no need. Do you remember it? The dream, I mean...”

“I do...” Crowley replied, cautiously. How could he explain his trivial dream. How much it upset him? When Zira dreamed of hand spiders swarming him? When Zira ached when he moved?

“You don’t have to tell me,” Zira answered. Sounding sincere, but also sounding sad.  
  


“It was nothing,” Crowley said. “Teeth...”   
  


“We will get you well. The best nutritionists, getting you to surgical weight, and then your implants,” Zira sighed. “I can afford it, now. I should have found a way to afford it, before. Before you got too sick. I didn’t do rightly by you there, Crowley. I’m sorry.”

“Zira, please. I lied about the snake mural. I went to prison. You had no reason to pour all your university money into...”

“I _did_ , though, Crowley. I did have a reason. I loved you, and you were in pain, and I could have fixed it. I made it more complicated than that, in my head, but it wasn’t more complicated. And, my dear, I’m so sorry...”

Crowley exhaled unhappily. “I don’t think you are remembering properly, Angel...”

“Well, sure! Drag my brain damage into this...”

Crowley had to stop himself from sitting up straight. “No, no! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean...”

“I know... I was joking, I suppose. Making light of...I know that’s not what you meant, my dear. I’m sorry...”

“Oh, Angel. I just meant...”

“I _know_. It’s alright. Let’s not... and, I interrupted you. Did you want to say more about the teeth dream?”

Crowley shrugged. “Not really. _Teeth_ covers it.”

Zira started to move. “I need to get up.”

“Lavatory? I could...?”

“No, thank you.”

Crowley sighed. “I really don’t mind. I’d do anything to spare you pain. Anything...”

“It’s not you, my dear,” Zira sighed. “I know you would. It’s my hang up. Not yours. I’m terrified of losing independence. Of being institutionalised. Of being compelled to bear the touch of strangers, chosen by some bored HR manager, rather than of my own choosing. And, these last weeks... it’s felt like a close run thing. I need to fend for myself, at least a little. At least, for a while. However much it hurts...”

Crowley nodded. “Okay. Yeah, I get that. Prison was... well not _physically_ like that, but sort of _mentally_ like that? If that makes...”

“Oh, my dear, of course! How thoughtless of me to...”

“Hey, it’s okay. We just seem to keep bumping up against each other this morning...”

“And not in the fun way...”

Crowley groaned. “I begged you to stop flirting. _Begged you_. You’ve got it all excited again....”

“And, I’ve still got to get up...” Zira moaned.

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Crowley muttered.

“I like pairs...”

“I love you. Here, at least let me help you up.”

Crowley does begin to help Zira into the wheelchair, but halfway through parlayed this closeness into an embrace.

They were precarious, only half-balanced, and Crowley knew he was being a bad caretaker. Perhaps, he was being a lover, instead. Perhaps, he is doing that poorly, as well. And he found himself wailing, almost silently, hoarse.  
  


“Oh, my poor Crowley,” Zira whispered in his ear. “My poor dear Crowley.”

  
  


Zira embraced him, determined. But Crowley was having to take more of Zira’s weight by the moment.

They were precarious.   
  


Crowley settles Zira in the chair, then falls to his own knees.   
  


“It’s alright, darling boy. It’s your turn,” Zira murmured. “Let it out now...”

_Oh... right_ , _breakdown_ , said a distant part of Crowley.

_It’s not a good time!_ insisted another part, distant in the opposite direction.

Crowley, in the middle, lowered his head to Zira’s lap, felt Zira’s hand lower into his hair, making soft and loving, if slightly clumsy, sweeping motions.

_You’re the worst,_ Crowley wailed to himself. _The very worst. The least of it is, he told you he needed to pee. Let the poor man pee!_

  
He couldn’t help it, though. Crowley ruthlessly, silently, tore himself apart, and Zira patiently carded his hair. 


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: PTSD symptoms, reference to eating disorder, dissociation, references to alcohol, reference to past injury/violence, ableism, bureaucracy, reference to past domestic violence/child abuse, medical complications,

It was several hours before Zira felt up to making a phone call, but he did when he could. Crowley was asleep on his shoulder. His tears had dried on Zira’s skin, making it ever so slightly itchy, and the arm Zira had wrapped under Crowley was at perpetual risk of falling asleep.

Zira felt grateful, and exhausted, and a great many things, to a smaller extent, beyond his stamina for naming.

“Eric, dear, hello. I’m so sorry to bother you. I was wondering when we might be able to go home?”

“ _It’s not problem, Zira. It’s my job. And, hello to you, as well. And, whenever you like, of course._ ”

“It’s Crowley, you see. Also, I’m not sure that this desert air suits us. But Crowley... we have a dog, Bentley. And she’s such a comfort to him, when he is sad. And, he’s so sad, today. I think he needs her. And needs his paints. And needs the damp to complain about. And... I want to go home too.”

“Not a problem, Zira. Leave it all with me. Would this evening be soon enough, or were you thinking sooner?”

“This evening is fine, I should think. Although, I’m not sure what time it actually is...”

“ _You are holding a mobile, Zira. You called me_.”

“But, I’ve not been able to figure out if the phone knows it’s in Vegas. So, I know what time it is _somewhere_ , but...”

“ _Your phone knows it’s in Vegas_.”

“My, how clever these things are! And yes, dear. This evening would be fine. And now, can you remind me on the tipping protocol on hotel employees?”

“ _I’ll take care of all that. I mean, the firm will. I mean, you will, through the firm, but I’ll stuff the actual envelopes, so to speak, yeah?_ ”

“Oh... alright. Do be generous though, please Eric. Crowley and I have been no end of nuisance to housekeeping, and to room service, with the odd hours we’ve kept...”

“ _I like you_ ,” replied Eric.

“Well, I like you too, dear boy. And you will remember the porters, and whatnot?” 

“I will, yes. And I’ll text you flight details when I have them, and I’ll meet you with a car.”

Zira thanked him again, and put the phone back down, and whispered to the sleeping Crowley. “I hope you don’t mind, dear, but... we can always come back some day. Some day, when...”

Zira exhaled. There was so much to sort out. All waiting in London.

Crowley did little but nod, in agreement, when he woke. He wasn’t quite present. Zira held his hand.

Eric wrangled them into the airport and they flew together into the oncoming night.

* * *

“I didn’t do a party,” Newt said, helping Zira bring the bags into the house. “Cause, I didn’t know when you were coming back, and I was sure you’d be exhausted when you did, and neither of you like surprise parties. But, if none of that was true, I _would_ have. It’s not that I’m not happy for you.”

“Of course not, Newt, dear,” Zira sighed. “Please don’t worry. We shall do something properly, at some point, but it’s just not much of a priority, right now. Everything is too... too much.”

“Is Crowley alright?” Newt whispered.

“I...well... no. I suspect not. I suspect he needs Bentley, and a glass of whisky, and some more sleep,in the short term. He’s not much of a traveller. And he needs his therapist and nutritionist, as soon as we can get in. And, if nothing else could go wrong, for five consecutive minutes, that would be a great help too.”

Crowley and Bentley were to be found in a maudlin pile of black fur and leather, on the sitting room floor. 

“Crowley?” Newt called. “Do you want a whisky and soda.”

“Whisky and whiskey, please,” Crowley mumbled. 

Newt tutted, but complied. “Zira?”

“No, thank you, dear. I have various calls to make, in the morning, and I won’t thank myself for adding hangover to jet-lag.”

Bentley thumped her tail, hearing Zira’s voice in the room, but stayed put, in the Crowley pile.

Zira wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t.

* * *

“This is better, isn’t it dear? Zira asked. “The three of us?”

Crowley was between Zira and Bentley on the bed, and had one hand reaching to each of them. But he was still quiet.

“It feels better to me,” Zira continued, into that quiet. “Being back home. Something... normal. Chosen. Something we can begin again with.”

Crowley’s breath evened out with sleep, and Zira kissed his hair. “Sleep well, my dear. No dreams. No dreams at all.”

Zira didn’t sleep.

* * *

When the morning came, it was _time_. Crowley made himself wake up.  


Wake up _properly_.

Bentley’s tongue flopped from her mouth, and she panted a smile. “Good girl,” Crowley whispered. “Lovely, sweet girl. I missed you.”

She padded after him. 

Newt gave him a hug and coffee. 

Zira was on the phone.

“The disability office at his university,” Newt said, quietly. “And a few of his lecturers. To see what can be salvaged, if anything.”

The weight of Zira’s sigh, as he ended the call, was indication enough.“Doesn’t seem to be much scope for anything but incompletes, across the board...”

Crowley set down his coffee. “That isn’t fair.”

“Fair doesn’t seem to be the point,” Zira shrugged. “It simply _is_. I missed exams, and that’s that. One subject, I did so well in the essay, that they are thinking of conceding a pass, but... _oh dear_.”  
  


“You should sic your lawyers on them,” Crowley growled.

Zira shook his head. “That wouldn’t be terribly friendly. They haven’t wronged me, exactly, just failed to... Anyway, I can’t make any more calls about that today. I can’t bear it.”

Crowley opened his arms. “Sweetheart. I’m sorry. Are you sure there’s nothing to do?”

“I could start the semester over, I suppose, but I just... I wanted a degree for such a long time. So much so, that I refused to let, even what’s turned out to be a life changing head injury, stop me. I powered through. I did everything right, and still... still it... didn’t work. I’m not sure I have it in me, to try again.”

“For what it’s worth, Angel, it’s only a piece of paper. I don’t need it to know you are brilliant...and so clever....”

“Thank you, dear. But, please. Let’s not discuss it further. I fear I shall cry, again, and you must all be so heartily sick of that! I managed to get into a wound clinic tomorrow, so that’s something. And Crowley dear, your therapist is squeezing you in tomorrow as well, given the elopement and all. She sounds concerned.”

Crowley scoffed. “Typical. ‘ _Concerned_ ’ when obviously marrying you is the best decision I’ve ever made.”

“Regardless. We wanted the appointment for you, and I’m sure you can see, from the outside, it _looks_ worrying. It might be good to discuss the situation with someone with only your interests at heart. Do say you’ll go!”

“Of course, I’ll _go_. I promised I’d go... I’m just saying, it’s a daft thing to beconcerned about, assuming you’ve read her correctly.”

* * *

Crowley’s therapist _WAS_ concerned.

“Oh for goodness sake, Lisa,” Crowley muttered, looking stubbornly at his fingernails. “Pull your head in! You might even consider being happy for me. That’s the polite thing, isn’t it? Aren’t you supposed to be socializing me, not the other way around?”

Lisa tapped her pencil. “Crowley, getting married is a big step, and, as I’m sure we discussed, I was hoping that you would be further along in your recovery, before making any big steps.”

Crowley groaned to the indifferent ceiling. “No, you aren’t getting it. I _HAD_ to.”

Lisa looked at him closely. “ _Had_ to?”

”Well, not like _that!_ But... it was an emergency. If you’d been there...It... was the right thing to do.”

“Because a lawyer you’d never met before, told you to? We talked about the importance of stability, Crowley. We talked about how big life changes would put you at risk of a relapse...”

“What big life change?” Crowley threw up his hands. “It’s a piece of paper! It’s just a piece of paper to help keep Zira safe, it doesn’t _mean_ any... you are just tapping away with that pencil, aren’t you? Tappy tap. Zira was doing that on the phone, yesterday. While his university was telling him that having a stalker, and your brother trying to strip you of your human rights, is no excuse for missing a few quizzes. I never know what to do with my hands, either, when I’m on the phone. It was better when phones had cords. Do you remember that? How young _are_ you exactly? They used to have these curly cords, and I’d curl them the wrong way around my finger. Drove my parents nuts. One day, my dad screamed at me to stop, and, when I didn’t, he picked up the whole phone and clonked me over the head with it...”

Lisa was silent with huge eyes.

“...I mean, not _hard_ ,” Crowley lied, weakly. “You are going to read something into that, aren’t you?”

* * *

“How was therapy, dear?” Zira asked gently, passing Crowley cutlery.

“Fine, fine,” Crowley replied. “She opened my skull and stuck her egg-beater in. Same old, same old. How was the wound clinic?”

Zira sighed. “A bit _confronting_. The ulcer isn’t healing quite as it should. The stress perhaps? And regardless, the Doctor was very concerned about having a large knot of scar tissue over a bony prominence. For when I start using my prosthetic again, I mean. Scar tissue just isn’t as strong as the skin it replaces, and it will be a vulnerable place for skin breakdown from now on. I was hoping I might get by with a silicon disc padding, but this doctor seemed to think that a new socket was the bare minimum, and that ultimately a plastic surgeon might get involved, and if _that_ fails then... are you alright, dear?”

Crowley blinked. “What, me? Yeah? Of course. Sorry, plastic surgeon did you say?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, I suppose,” Zira replied. “Would you like some wine?”

“Yeah... I guess.”

* * *

Crowley was painting a bird, above the bed, above his head.

His arms ached. He needed one of those Michelangelo Sistine Chapel contraptions.   
  
  


He’d put down a drop cloth but paint... uh... _finds a way_. Crowley had mopped the paint off the sheets with bog roll, and rearranged the pillows a bit.

”Oh, my dear, it’s beautiful,” Zira said, coming in with a tea tray, balanced on his lap.

It made Crowley nervous, Zira carrying tea like that. He feared a spill and third degree burns. Feared them, particularly, when a single ulcer was causing so much trouble.

But morning brought the sunrise, and Zira brought tea, and some things were just like that.

”You like her?” Crowley asked.  
  


”She’s glorious!” Zira said. “What manner of bird is she?”

The bird was a stork-peacock-crane-brolga-heron-type-thing.

”Phoenix,” Crowley said.  
  


”That’s a nice thought,” Zira replied, smiling.

Crowley took two sugars, so he was willing to bet Zira had dutifully made the tea with two sugars. But, it tasted like those two teaspoons had been rather large heaped teaspoons. Crowley resolved to eat more conspicuously, for a while. Zira was worried.  
  


”How is your back today, Angel?” 

“Much better,” Zira replied. “One’s own chair really does make all the difference.”

  
  


“That’s good. Good. Good.”

Zira’s head tilted. “I like that painting you did for Newt’s friend...”

”Not sure about it,” Crowley muttered. “Usually best to go with photo-realism. People who don’t know art like it better.”

”Well, it’s up to you, of course, dear. I do like it, the way it is, though. Reminds me of a Chagall. So dreamlike! If Newt’s friend doesn’t like it, I certainly would...”

”I like it, too,” Crowley admitted. “That’s why I’m dithering about changing it. But it’s important. I promised.”

Zira looked thoughtful. “But you’re the artist, dear. Your vision is important. If you like it like this, surely it should...”

”Gotta fix it.” Crowley interrupted.

They we’re both quiet for a while. Sipping tea. The morning sun trickled in. Dust danced in a shaft of light.

”My father sort of sucked,” Crowley said, eventually, examining the floor.

”You’ve mentioned something like that,” Zira replied, carefully. “Would you like to talk about it?”

”Not really,” Crowley stared out the window.


	62. Chapter 62

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: references to past domestic abuse/child abuse, internalised violence, sexual content.
> 
> A reader requested the following trigger warning. memories ofchild witnessed aftermath for sexual assault/rape. (This was not the intended meaning of the scene)

Lisa’s pen scribbled.

Crowley was trying. “I suppose, if you want to discuss a particular memory, the one that sticks out... I can’t remember how small I was. There had been screaming, banging. And he’d left, again. And, I went to find my mother. She was in the bedroom. Crying on the bed. Her face was red. I tried to get her to talk to me, but she didn’t. It was like she couldn’t see me. She was curled in the foetal position. I think she was wearing something peach, but I don’t remember what. She sort of wailed and screamed into the pillow, and she wouldn’t look and me, wouldn’t answer me. And, that wasn’t what she normally did. Normally she’d hug me, and say I was making her feel better. But that time, it was like I wasn’t there.”

”l’m sorry that happened to you,” Lisa said.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Happened to _me_? What _happened_ to _me_? My mother ignored me for ten minutes? She was a human being, for fuck’s sake, not a robot. And she had bigger things to worry about.”

“It must have been frightening,” Lisa said.

Crowley shrugged. “I didn’t like that I couldn’t help. It felt... I don’t know.”

“It was never your job to help.” Lisa said.

“Well, _obviously_! But... you know.”

  
  


“Crowley, does Zira ever remind you of your father?”

  
  


Crowley laughed. “Oh, god no! Polar opposite people. Never. Not even once. If anything, it’s me that...”

  
“Go on...”  
  


“Nothing... it’s stupid.”

  
“What is?”

  
“Nothing. Probably. I forgot what I was going to say.”

* * *

  
Crowley had long ago switched out the bulbs in the bedroom for a warmer white, and looking at Zira now, he was chuffed with his own good taste.

  
  


“Angel. _Angel_. So pretty...” he murmured.

Zira’s lips were swollen slightly pink, because Crowley had kissed them that way, and his eyes were slightly dreamy, and soft-focused.

“I shouldn’t like being called pretty,” Zira said, through those swollen lips, his voice earthy and warm. “But I do. I _adore_ it.”

Crowley’s whole body shivered warmly. “Say ‘adore’ again.”

“I _adore_ you,” Zira said, and he was trying that time, so it was even better. “Gorgeous. Apollonian. Husband.”

Crowley, was propped on his elbows, and his elbows wobbled. “What you do to vowels is positively sinful!”

“And you, my dear, mouth your consonants _salaciously_. Amongst other things...”

“Ahhhh, you’re flirting again,” Crowley moaned. “It’s unbearable. Look at me. _Look it_! Actual tears. I want you so much, it’s leaking from my eyes.”

“Let me taste,” Zira purred.

“Stooooop.”

Zira chuckled. “You started it, darling boy. Calling me _pretty_.”

“ ‘Pretty’ doesn’t count as flirting.”

“Certain members of this esteemed body beg to differ. Are standing in dissent, you might say.”

“I’ll member you...” Crowley muttered.

“Please do!”

“Zira,” Crowley moaned. “You said you’d go to therapy! You promised.”

“And I will, Crowley. One can’t get appointments immediately. In the meantime...”

“In the meantime, we should err on the side of caution...”

“... in the meantime, we should err on the side of good sense. I have been to therapy before, you know. I’ve certainly been enough, to know that one does not conquer an anxiety through avoidance. It simply doesn’t work that way.”

“But....” Crowley sighed heavily. Unconsciously he wound his fingers in Zira’s soft, chest hair. It was pale, almost pearlescent, and made the skin of Crowley’s fingers shine gold in comparison. “But... I’m scared, Zira... of doing something that...sends you somewhere. I’m _frightened_. I...”

“I’m scared, too. Perhaps that’s not the worst thing, though. I’m scared, but I _want_ you. I miss you. The velvet. The salt. The stretch. The burn. The sweat.” Zira breathed the words along the line of Crowley’s jaw, reaching his earlobe, snagging it with his tongue.

Crowley keened and gasped. Wheezed. The room brightened as his pupils dilated. “I caaaa ha...”

Zira had one hand pressed against the small of his back, gently pulling their bodies together, and the other hand wended slowly down Crowley’s flank, pausing as the thumb flicked over his hip bone. Zira sought Crowley’s eyes, sought permission.

Crowley tried to think. “I’m scared...” he whispered, again.

Zira paused, his eyebrows lowering minutely in thought. He didn’t move his hand. Instead, he waited. “Crowley dear, I _know_. When and if you feel ready, take my hand, and put it around you. It’s all right.”

Crowley took in deep breaths of warm air. Air warmed by his husband. Air that, moments ago, had curled through Zira’s lungs, mere thin membranes from his blood, from his heart. Crowley drew it into his own lungs. It tasted of Zira in some not readily detectable way.

  
  


Fear and want chased each other, and flickered.

  
  


Shaking, Crowley interlaced fingers with Zira, and drew their hands downward. The touch was electric, too intense to be quite pleasant. A grunt of shock escaped Crowley’s lips.

  
  


Zira cooed and soothed.

  
  


And stroked.

Smooth, gliding, building, warmth. Vibrating rhythms. And all the while, that subconsciously flavoured air, and swollen lips mapping meridians down Crowley’s neck.

  
  


“I’ll come, I will,” Crowley moaned.  
It sounded, absurdly, like a threat. 

Enough that Zira giggled. “But that’s good, my dear. That’s beautiful.”

The giggle undid Crowley entirely.

A moment following the wave break, came shuddering, needy tears, frantic grasping. All Crowley’s. Soft hair curling, again, between his fingers. His ear against Zira’s breastbone, a soft, steady heartbeat within.

Crowley might have been clinging to beach-sand after a shipwreck. He’d been struck by love’s sharp edge, and he reeled.

“Love you, Angel, love you,” he sobbed. At a loss to explain.

“Dearest, dear Crowley. It’s all right. I have you here. It’s _all right_.”

Slow circles caressed his back. He was messy and didn’t care. Zira hummed some low melody. And Crowley breathed.


End file.
